






























V ' n 


0 O 


V • n 


o. 



__ -t <-> O * 

* *x v k 

* °o 

•■ ^C?\ * i 

o aS '~f r j. >* 

* 

r >. X 


? * O 

* 0 N o *> / 

*, ■ V *'«** * ■ v 

% ,<f :^Mm\ %# * 



m& : # --mr. ^ <%. '. 

X 4 c** * ^ » •* .v * 

' i * * s S A | g %. y o * * * ^ K , </ 

V* * <3 r O v c ° Nc « <P 

*i» .> ^jrTihu, ’ „ ° L> * _ r4s>-. . x ^ 


: x o ©* 


<- 


* 8 I A * / 


.\V <p„ 


%/°o 

* "■ ’*© 0 ^ 

^ O 4 ^ l vfj* 

/ oF * V — 

l ' „ » v ^ 0 * 

v v * ’ “ M / ^ , 9 V t s s ** r. 

. a- _ £?. 35 ) *, ^ .*4 v 

- v\ V * 

tP ,^v « 


, ' * o * 

* 0 H o * * ^ 

\> * Y * 0 / 



* r\ 
' ,(V 



4°^ on// * * *'\\ A v i /. /°V* 

' v c *- ^ ,# y AtoL* °<-> 

a\ x j^/av/ 5 z- * 



^ ° ^ ^ 

> \ r ^Zj 

y -X>- <T \L l cK 

>«•’ //**, "> 

\,j> *®v. % *s* » 

$ ^ - ^1 


/. + 

- ’*+. s 

* r 

* o, 

v A vv» / 

* „o o % 

4 +° .'iiafc^' ^ v \*’* 

: * 




> V 


V C 0 N C * 



> „ . » ' <0*' r ^. ' 

& * U r 0 

' Zp ^ 


>° ^ 


K<s 





t' ~ c ^t^ X N , 

c5 >- * 8 , a * 4 ° 

^ Sy s s 

r 'K* * 

° 4 . S " 


^ 4 - or - * V> » 

j), ^9 A o \ - y 

o ' 0 » ^ ,0 V ^ y/ 

V \ B b *1* 


$ /p - ^ 

X . • ^ ^ 

^ * * s s A X ,18 ° 

A* % 




A, 





■ *0 


A 0 s » « , * 3 N 0 ’ 

D * s c* \> * * * ° a 



< v> 

0 > s s**; ; ^ 

> ’ s , -^T^ ✓ -* 



* e* ^ 

, V* ^ * 

► ft vj P 1 ■H o' 

Of J o * V * ,G r 

b O 0 °' . C ° 4 x! *' % 

: 'oo' 

° ^ 'V * -^a^r * , 

O * r^ l \ ^Jj O / n N3'>3— <» o * 

V** # „ Hv » • . '* V 0 s> •, %* * * N 0 ’ \* V 

^ <P * _ ,4^ ^ ^t^/t f *P ^ <3 JN « 

- A, ^ ^ (A * * <*, -V. J\f^^/ 1 . <* 



^ A ifJ 

•V 7 K >*> A *. 

Ap * * A> ' 8 « 'A 

A 4 ^ * v * B/ 72 fe,'» ^ O' * 

>v jA ^ JfnfM A * <. 

" ^ V s . £M£s& - ^ ~x 


V 


V* 



C.^T. s 'a a 



x 0 o •„ 

•>y ^ X* 

* _0 o ^ 

N.^ °^t * 3 N 0 

0 > s'”'* ^ V 

s -4K*. ^ ^ 



tOo. 

\ ^ y> 



^ : °o’ r Bfo. 

* 'V V* ^ 

’* /* . . >;^;>° s s . . , v* . » 

V ^jv^/lV •«. 



^ ^ . V. » 

^ t> ^ ^ ^ .v 

' 0 * K * J> K „ C 

t o -0- c 0 N c * . 

'S \J *> 




•s' V 

o cr 



- *v 

^ • <<r^ v ^ o> 

V" ,'., .« 

v V .^ 2 _ * O 

V 


, c°y 

'*P - •’o o' ° n 

2 s5 • oi -n*. ' ^ 

V * • 1 ' *>°' s'-* JV * ^ ° ’”■ N # - < . o ^-' * 

<* r» \X> 


X 0 ^. 




A ‘ 'A'?' 

y% z 





V «/>. 



V * 


V* AX' 

cT* ,^V 


•* A' 



^ a° *■ - ^ 


A n • 


•*. O 

tv 

■#L -- A xV .•" ■ •' A? J °' 1 .o? c» N, -» ^ 

^ ■%. * Mt/rA?A \ ° 0 _* ■ * 

r. ^ ^ :§Mu^ a a 

r* soo* *ei^fi a 

0 O ^ N>v ^~ > <* o^* cAr. l x p.0 C* y 

A 0 ,.., °*. *SS0’ / , ^ ».,>* 'f 0 ,.., ^ »»► 

^ <?*o vx* r ‘ ^ O ♦ '* <r, 

- A> ^ * % %' «» 

2 z 








A 



Ai 
















A PLUCKY ONE 



A PLUCKY ONE 




BY 

MRS. GEORGE E. SPENCER 

AUTHOR OF “SALT LAKE FRUIT,'’ “THE STORY OF 
MARY,” ETC., ETC. 



, NOV 17 1886 

>v c 1 3 rs 


/ 


CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited, 
739 & 741 Broadway, New York 



Copyright, 

1886, 

By O. M. DUNHAM. 


Press of W. L. Mershon & Co.. 
Rahway, N . J. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ WITH HOPES HIGH BURNING,” 

CHAPTER II. 

“ MAKING ACQUAINTANCES,” 

CHAPTER III. 

“ SQUARE MEN,” .... 

CHAPTER IV. 

“ A LITTLE ENCOUNTER,” 

CHAPTER V. 

“ A PURTY GAL, AN* PLUCKY,” 

CHAPTER VI. 

“ HELPMEET,” 

CHAPTER VII. 

“ A PARTING,” .... 

CHAPTER VIII. 

“ FATHER AND DAUGHTER,” 

CHAPTER IX. 

“ HARRY SAVES A FRIEND,” 

CHAPTER X. 

“ KATH SAYS ‘ YES,’ ” ... 

CHAPTER XI. 

“ BLOSSOMING INTO FLOWER,” 

CHAPTER XII. 

“ miss Gordon’s assessment work,” 


i 

9 

1 8 

2 3 

3 2 

48 

53 

65 

73 

77 

81 

86 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ CHRISTMAS IN THE MOUNTAINS,” 

CHAPTER XIV. 

“ WITH THE BOYS,” .... 

CHAPTER XV. 

“ NOBLE DUTY,” .... 

CHAPTER XVI. 

“ THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR,” 

CHAPTER XVII. 

“ THE DEFENSE OF THE MONSTER,” . 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ THE GLAD NEW YEAR,” . 

CHAPTER XIX. 

“ I HAVE SINNED,” .... 

CHAPTER XX. 

A FUNERAL IN CETEWAYO, 

CHAPTER XXI. 

“ woman’s heroism, woman’s pains,” 

CHAPTER XXII. 

“ QUIET, BUT NOT PEACE,” 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

“ POOR BOB ! ” 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ WHAT WAS COMING NEXT,” . 

CHAPTER XXV. 

NOBLE AS A BELTED KNIGHT, 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ A SINKING SHIP, .... 

CHAPTER XXVII. 
“ si’s nugget,” .... 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“ A PROPOSITION FROM THE CITIZENS,” 


• 9 1 

. 102 

III 

. 114 

120 

• 131 
. 141 

146 

• J 53 
161 

. 168 

176 
. 183 

. 188 

. 197 

. 208 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

“ A KNIGHT COMES INTO THE WILDERNESS," 

CHAPTER XXX. 

“ THAT DELICIOUS WORLD,” 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

“ DR. KNOWLTON GOES MINING," 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

“ CONQUERING THE CAMP," 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

“ DESERTED, BUT NOT ALONE," 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

“ THE COMMITTEE CALLS ON DR. KNOWLTON," 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

“ A SIEGE," 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

“ THE EVIL SPIRIT," 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

“ kathrine’s heroes," .... 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

“ THE MAGIC OF SUCCESS," 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

“ THE RETURN," 

CHAPTER XL. 

“ PLANS FOR NEVADA,” .... 

CHAPTER XLI. 

“ SUDDEN CALLS," ..... 

CHAPTER XLII. 

“ GRAND OLD SI," ..... 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

“ UP AMONG THE PINES," ... 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

“ TOGETHER,” ...... 


vii 

■ 215 

222 

. 23O 

242 

• 257 

. 265 

. 272 
. 283 

29I 
. 3OI 
. 308 

• 315 

• 323 

• 33° 

• 33 6 

• 35° 













« 








A PLUCKY ONE, 


CHAPTER I. 

“WITH HOPES HIGH BURNING." 

D ASHING along the road, crossing the wide valleys and 
the wonderful natural passes of the mountains, came 
four strong horses with a stout carriage. And what a happy 
party ! Father, mother, a boy of five, and a baby girl in 
the arms of her colored nurse. They were coming into the 
interior of Nevada to make a great fortune, and noble plans 
of helpfulness filled their hearts “ with hopes high burning," 
sayeth an old song. 

And their hopes burned even to the glorious skies spread 
above this wild and romantic country — skies of such beauty, 
an atmosphere of such clearness that its inhalation invigor- 
ates like a tonic. 

Six months before Owen Merilton, the head of the party 
of travelers, was living in Virginia, and “ doing a good busi- 
ness." He was not rich, but he had enough of this world's 
goods to have a pleasant, pretty home and a contented 
wife. A clever and active man of thirty-five, he had come 
of that which is most dear to the Virginian’s heart, an 
aristocratic family, and seven years before had married 
sweet Eliza Knowlton, the belle of his native town. 

Seven happy years they had been to her and to him too 
until bitten by that asp of American life, the desire to be rich 
— 'that viper whose fangs once fastened in a good American’s 


10 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


honest heart, makes all pleasure, like the Dead Sea fruit, 
turn to ashes on his lips. 

Thus it was with Owen Merilton in the quiet town of old 
Virginia. Money accumulated so very slowly ; the best 
years of his life were gone, and he had only a competence. 
To add to his discontent, he had of late been receiving 
letters from an old acquaintance who was living in the in- 
terior of Nevada. 

Captain Alcorn had commanded the company in which 
Owen, a mere boy, had fought during the Civil War. As a 
lad he was brave and daring, a favorite with his comrades, 
and had always cherished the kindliest memories of those 
with whom he had gone through that bitter struggle. This 
Captain Alcorn wrote to Owen that he had discovered a 
very rich gold ledge in the hitherto almost unknown camp 
of Cetewayo, and offered him the half of it for the small 
sum of five thousand dollars. 

“ I would not think of taking this from any other fellow 
in the world. But I know you are ambitious, capable, and 
can raise ready money. A very little ready money will 
realize to you an immense fortune. I have been at Bodie, 
was one of the original locators, and I have never seen any 
such prospect as this. I make the first offer to you, and 
will give you thirty days to consider the proposal. If I 
don’t hear from you by that time, I will close with some 
parties in the neighboringtown of Nappias. To them I can 
sell for several thousands more, but I would like to have 
you for my partner. So I write first to you. And with this 
immense ledge of rich rock a few thousands more or less 
are of slight consequence.” 

This letter was the bomb that, thrown into Owen’s quiet 
life, shattered its peacefulness into ruins. Full of excite- 
ment, he had come home from his office the hour he received 
it, and walking into the room where his wife, with her 


u With hopes high burning." 


ii 


baby at her breast, smiled love and welcome upon him, he 
said : 

“ Eliza, I am weary of this quiet life, this slow, up-hill 
grind of putting penny to penny as the years go on. Are 
you plucky enough to go with me to the wilds of Nevada, 
where we can dig out our fortune in a few months ? Or 
shall I leave you here, among your friends, and face the 
new life alone ? ” 

Paling a little, for with a woman’s quick instinct, she felt, 
rather than knew, the consequences of such an abrupt 
breaking of old ties and associations, she gave her little 
girl to the waiting nurse before she answered : 

“ Darling, you are. my life. No new country can be 
strange and wild to me if I have you. I will go with you, 
anywhere, and be content so long as you are happy.” 

Touched by her love, he stooped and kissed her ; but his 
eyes, already fixed on the wonderful castle of his hopes, 
looming up before him, looked beyond the lovely face up- 
raised to his. 

Selling every thing as advantageously as possible, they had 
said farewell to their friends and relatives, and with faithful 
old Em, the baby’s nurse, had turned their faces toward the 
setting sun. 

There had previously been some correspondence be- 
tween Owen and Captain Alcorn, the owner of the rich 
discovery. Owen agreed to take the half at Alcorn’s price 
if the ledge realized his description. He commissioned 
Alcorn to have built for his family a small frame house 
of six rooms, and Alcorn had sent a box of immensely 
rich rock for Merilton to have assayed. “ A fair sample 
of the ledge,” he had written. The assays went “ way 
up in the thousands,” and already Owen felt himself a mil- 
lionaire. 

He was a noble fellow, filled with the kindliest sympathy 


12 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


for the unfortunate, and always ready to stretch out the 
helping hand to the needy. 

“And now, love,*' he would say, during those busy weeks 
of preparation, “ we need no longer help as niggards. We 
will soon have the golden key that unlocks the gate to 
peace and plenty. Never shall you grieve again over those 
we can not aid. We’ll build homes for the decrepid, col- 
leges for the student ; and make Em independently rich,” 
he added, smiling at the old colored woman’s open-mouthed 
wonder. 

By the time Alcorn’s letter arrived, saying that the furni- 
ture shipped had reached Cetewayo, and the house was 
ready for their occupancy, they wei;e ready to start. The 
leave-taking was sad. Partings are always painful when 
we leave those we love ; and, though Owen felt sure that a 
year at furthest would see them back again — “with all the 
money we will ever want,” he said to his mother — still it 
was hard for the stately old lady to keep back her tears. 

And Eliza had to part with a dear and only brother, who 
had been most devoted to the little sister, committed to his 
care by their dead parents. Em and Harry Merilton were 
the only ones for whom the separation brought no pangs. 
The boy was impatient to be off, and have a pick, “ to 
mine just like a man.” 

And Em’s whole affection being centered on “ Miss ’Liza 
and her chillen,” she was happy to be wherever they were. 
All her leisure time was spent in bragging to her friends of 
the wonderful things “ Mars’ Owen was gwine to do, when 
he made his fortune.” 

“ I guess we’ll never have no more iron shoes to our 
horses,” she’d say, with a toss of her turbaned head ; “ jes' 
pure gol’ and nuffin else.” 

When once started on the journey, and while rushing 
across the continent with the speed and comforts of mod- 


WITH HOPES HIGH BURNING. 


13 


ern travel, Owen’s hopes wakened echoes in Eliza’s heart. 
She who had ever been readiest with sympathy for him was 
not now lacking. Mining was their sole topic, with the 
wonderful results to be accomplished by the wealth that 
was surely to be theirs within the year. 

They had left Virginia in April. Already the sweet- 
breathed violet was peeping out its pretty head in the wood- 
lands, and in Eliza’s garden the hyacinths were in bloom. 
But in Nevada the snow lay everywhere. They had 
stopped a few days on account of storms at Eureka, one 
of the most successful mining camps of the West. To 
them it seemed an extremely picturesque town, with its 
irregularly-built cottages climbing up the mountain side, 
but as soon as the roads were declared practicable, they 
started off, impatient to reach their destination. 

They had a very pleasant trip, traveling in the most 
luxurious and expensive manner. In Eureka Owen had 
told Eliza of his arrangements for the long ride, that was 
usually made in the stages. When she remonstrated, be- 
cause of the expense, she was silenced by his ready 
answer : “ Why, love, in a year at furthest, we’ll be 
immensely rich ; let us be comfortable now.” He had 
always been her law and guide, for she loved him ; there- 
fore she said no more. 

As they climbed the steep mountain road, crossing the 
last range that lay between them and Cetewayo, the 
driver looked around and told Mrs. Merilton that in a 
few moments they would be in sight of the camp. 

They reached the summit, and a glorious view burst 
upon them. To the left of the canyon the rocks, like 
mighty fortresses, stood out from a gently sloping hillside ; 
opposite, in every variety of form, the great mountains 
topped and o’ertopped each other. Snow, with its daz- 
zling brightness, covered these, while the brown rocks 


14 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


that faced the wintry giants, had not a vestige of its white 
mantle. 

In little clusters, looking like pigmies in this grand 
company, were the small cabins that composed the camp — 
some of logs, some of canvas, and some unpainted lumber. 
And on the sunny side, under the great brown rocks that 
looked down protectingly, was a small cottage of new lum- 
ber ; tiny enough, but large in comparison with the still 
tinier cabins in the hollow of the canyon. 

“ There’s your home, ma’am,” the driver had said, point- 
ing to the cottage. “ The captain chose that site, for the 
view. You can see right through a cleft in the rocks, 
twenty miles across the valley.” 

Her home ! Eliza’s eyes grew misty as she looked at the 
little cottage, without a single beautifying tree or shrub 
about it. The fair mansion she had left, with its smooth 
lawn, carefully tended garden, its rippling stream, and the 
noble trees rose before her. But she was brave as well as 
loving, so the mist cleared away from the soft brown eyes, 
and the sweet mouth wore a smile for Owen, when he 
turned to say : 

“ Can you be content in that mite of a house ? ” 

“ Any place is large enough for me when I have those I 
love with me,” she answered. 

But he hardly heard her, so busy was he with his thoughts. 
That voice had been his sweetest music until this fatal 
desire to be very rich had fastened upon his heart. And 
now he could not spare the time to listen to it. 

“Are you ready, ma’am?” asked the driver, and when 
Mrs. Merilton bowed, he fixed the brake, tightened the 
reins, and down the steep road they dashed, making Em’s 
black face pale with affright. Rushing upon the little 
camp like an avalanche, they did not, apparently, create even 
(X ripple of excitement, nor awaken the slightest interest. 


“ WITH HOPES HIGH BURNING." 15 

Several men looked up from a door, above which a pair 
of antlers proclaimed it to be the butcher’s shop, but these 
strangers, coming to this wilderness from the great world, 
did not even cause a cessation to their gossip. A very old 
man hobbling across the open space in front of the one 
store did not turn his head. Only the children, ragged and 
dirty as it is possible for children to be, stopped their play 
to stare at the strangers. All that broke the silence was 
the barking of dogs. And these rushed out in such num- 
bers that Harry privately assured Em this was “ Dog- 
town,” and then “ No one seems glad to see us,” he said 
with quivering lips. 

It was a steep pass up to their little cottage, seeming 
impossible for a vehicle. “ But I’ll do it, ma’am,” said the 
driver, vexed in his heart that the citizens of Cetewayo 
should have manifested so little interest in the coming of 
“ Mr. Merilton and party.” Again Em’s face blanched, 
but the feat was accomplished quickly. Up the face of the 
mountain went the carriage, and with a clatter and rolling 
of rocks under the horses’ hoofs, the driver reined in the 
team at the door. Jumping down, he held out his hand to 
the sweet lady who had ever a smile on her face during the 
hours of their long ride, wishing her “ good-by and good 
luck.” 

Already Owen was at the cottage door talking eagerly to a 
tall, slender man, with a smiling face. He seemed to have 
forgotten them. So Eliza, with a word of thanks, put her 
hand in the driver’s and jumped lightly to the ground. 
Harry came next, then Em and the baby. Em, muttering 
to herself, “ Dat man knows nuffin ’bout helpin’ down a 
lady,” marched, nose in air, into the house, while Mrs. 
Merilton joined her husband. 

“ Eliza, my friend, Captain Alcorn. Mrs. Merilton, mv 
wife,” said Owen. 


r 6 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Eliza cordially held out her hand. Determined to like 
her husband’s friend, she saw nothing displeasing in the 
face of the man who had just been presented to her, and 
hardly noticed that the blue eyes, after glancing at her for 
a moment, looked down, as if in embarrassment. Yet the 
pall that had fallen on her heart at her strange welcome to 
the mountains did not lift. She did not allude to it, how- 
ever, as she gave a kind greeting to the gentleman for, 
despite a certain roughness of garb, such he seemed. 

“ I fear, Mrs. Merilton,” — Captain Alcorn’s voice was soft 
and pleasing — “you will find this but a poor place to 
live in.” 

And the lady replied : 

“ I don’t mind the place, Captain Alcorn. The people 
make the place for me. I shall try to make a home here 
for my husband and children. And when we are settled, 
I hope you will find it attractive enough to come often to 
see us.” 

They both smiled ; and then Eliza followed Em into the 
house, while Owen, Captain Alcorn and some men who had 
been called to assist, brought in the trunks and boxes. 
With different arrangements of furniture, with the addition 
of ornaments, curtains and pictures, the little cottage soon 
looked homelike. 

So, when Owen came in to a late dinner, he found pretty 
rooms to rest in. His wife, flushed and tired, yet smiling 
her sweet welcome on him, as in their home in the far away 
Virginia. 

Wearied out, they all slept well. And the morning sun- 
light awakened them to a busy day. After breakfast, 
Owen was off to the mine with Captain Alcorn, while Eliza 
and her lieutenant, Em, had their hands full in attending 
to the children and unpacking. 


CHAPTER II. 


“ MAKING ACQUAINTANCES." 

T HE days passed quietly. They were all growing accus- 
tomed to their mountain home. Harry had become a 
famous climber of rocks, and baby Hannah was toddling 
about highly pleased with herself and all the world. Em 
ruled in the kitchen, keeping a number of Indians busy 
bringing water from the spring, and chopping wood for her. 
On her arrival the Indians in the camp had congregated in 
numbers, wild with curiosity at seeing a woman near their 
color and not of their kind. They had soon caught the word 
“ nigger ” from the white children in the camp, and much 
to Em’s indignation called the Merilton’s house the nigger 
“ Wickiup.” At first she had been much alarmed at the 
strange figures of the Indians, who sat on the rocks and 
waited for hours for a peep at her face. It was a motley 
crowd. There were old men dressed after the fashion of 
the whites, but with sometimes three and four shirts, hang- 
ing one below the other. Younger bucks dressed in the 
same way and often decorated with many-colored handker- 
chiefs tied on their arms, and with streaks of green, red 
and black paint on their faces. These were tokens that 
they were courting some dusky maiden. There were old 
squaws, hideous, wrinkled and attired in rags and tatters ; 
and pappooses, with their nakedness barely hidden by the 
odds and ends of garments of all sizes and varieties. The 
younger squaws were generally pretty, and were often neat 
in their dress. Their eyes were large and bright, their 


i8 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


thick black hair was “ banged ; ” their very red lips and 
white teeth constantly showed, as they were constantly 
laughing. They were a heedless, happy group, caring for 
nothing beyond present needs. Those needs being easily 
supplied by a good meal, Em soon got on famously with 
them. Giving them plenty of “ teacup,” as they called 
food, and in return, having them do what she called “ odd 
chores.” Eliza felt a deep interest in these strange, wild 
people. The first morning after their arrival, while they 
were at breakfast, she was startled and delighted by the 
vision of a lovely Indian face pressed close to the window. 
The large, dark eyes were as soft as a gazelle’s, but the 
girl’s sweet smile was more sad than happy. She seemed 
to belong to a different class from the other merry and care- 
less young squaws, and seemed to fear a hideous old Indian 
woman who stood close beside her. Raising the window 
and giving her some sugar and bread, Eliza asked her 
name. Receiving her gift with the grace and dignity of a 
queen, she shook her head, as if she did not understand 
the words spoken. And then with the same dignified 
grace, resigned to the greedy clutch of the old squaw 
every thing she had just received. This awakened Harry’s 
indignation. He jumped from his chair, filled with sugar 
the pretty hands of the girl, and shaking his fist at the old 
squaw, said : 

“ Don’t you dare touch that.” 

At which the old woman, grinning hideously, took the 
girl’s arm and drew her away from the window. But after 
a time, Harry and the old squaw became good friends, as 
indeed he did with most of the Indians. They were 
always kind to children. The Indian children shared the 
meals the elders would earn, dipping their hands into the 
plates, and helping themselves without invitation or correc- 
tion all these manners and customs interesting Mrs. Meril- 


“ MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


x 9 


ton, whose chief pleasure just now was their study. The 
history of the beautiful Indian girl, she heard from some of 
her visitors. Not of the same tribe as the others, the girl 
had been stolen when a child, and married to a tall, cruel- 
looking, yet rather handsome Indian, named Pete. This 
lovely young creature was cruelly treated by her “ man,” as 
they called their husbands, but she found a warm friend in 
Eliza. A custom that seemed odd to Mrs. Merilton was, 
that the Indian women had no names, but were known only 
by the names of their “ men,” as “ Pete’s squaw,” “ Bill’s 
squaw ; ” yet, if given a name by the whites, they would 
adopt it, even among themselves. So she called the pretty 
girl “ Nora.” And Nora, as she henceforth became, was 
always welcome in Em’s kitchen. From her no labor was 
exacted, and for her always a warm meal ready. 

Getting “ fair play out of the Indians ” kept Em in a 
constant battle and excitement. She would rush to “ Miss 
’Liza” with a history of her grievances, vowing each day 
“ dat’s de las’ time I’ll let dem Injuns come in my kitchen.” 
Yet each day they came for their meals, and each day Em 
would valiantly battle for her rights. 

Eliza saw much less of her husband now, than when they 
were in Virginia. After a hasty breakfast and a hastier kiss 
for wife and children, Owen would mount his horse and 
start for the mine. And when he came home in the even- 
ing he would be so absorbed in thought, that he would 
hardly notice any one or any thing. 

He had closed the bargain with Alcorn for two-thirds of 
the ledge called “ The California,” on consideration of five 
thousand down, and that he should pay all expense of 
workings. 

“ The ledge looked splendidly,” he had told his wife, and 
had brought her some rock filled with gold that he had 
picked off the “ dump.” He had put several men at work 


20 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


on the ore, and had made an offer for the five-stamp mill, 
with water right, that was situated between their house and 
the little camp. The mill, water right, and a mine, upon 
which considerable work had been done, were owned by 
some California parties. One of the partners, wanting to 
retire, would sell his share, one-half of the property, for 
fifteen thousand dollars. Owen went through the mine 
with Alcorn, when, being impressed by him of its great 
value and the absolute necessity of the mill to work “ The 
California ” ore, he offered the owners ten thousand cash, 
on condition of having the entire use of mill for one year. 
This offer was accepted. And now, with his working capi- 
tal reduced to ten thousand dollars, he started a number of 
men on “ The California," sent to Nappias for first-class 
engineers and mill men ; had a road built from mine to mill ; 
and expected to “ start up " the mill on the famous rich 
rock in a few days. 

“ And then, Eliza,” he said, in one of the few hurried 
moments he spared to her from his varied and engrossing 
business, “ we will lay the first stone of the great tower of 
our fortune." 

Owen superintended every thing himself, deferring on 
mining matters to the judgment of Captain Alcorn, in whose 
ability and sincerity he thoroughly believed. 

The captain came very rarely to the house, preferring to 
see Owen in the small frame building dignified by the name 
of office. He had called once on Mrs. Merilton, on one of 
their first evenings in Cetewayo, and talked chiefly of the 
people in the camp. He said they were extremely vulgar, 
and profane — even the children could not be excepted. But 
they would call in force on her, so Mrs. Merilton could judge 
for herself. Then he smiled in a manner that implied con- 
tempt for these poor creatures, with whom a gentleman was 
forced to associate. Eliza’s curiosity, if she had any, was 


“ MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


21 


soon gratified. For every woman and child in the camp, 
attired in their “ best bib and tucker,” made her a formal 
visit. At all hours, the most unseasonable, there would 
come a rapping at the door, and a fresh visitor would be 
found there waiting a welcome. She knew there were not 
many people in the camp, the whole number of whites not 
exceeding one hundred ; and would wonder where all these 
visitors could spring from. She had been prepared to meet 
countrified people, very bashful and ill at ease, but was, 
however, completely puzzled by the self-possession of these 
women and children who trooped into her sitting-room, 
choosing always the most comfortable seats. Perfectly un- 
mindful of any inconvenience they were causing their host- 
ess by their long and untimely visits, they were interested 
only in the latest fashions, upon which they would descant 
by the hour. Yet, of course, there were exceptions to the 
rule. Thus Eliza found herself attracted by the elder sis- 
ter of a large family of orphaned little ones. Herself only 
a young girl, she was nobly striving to fill the place of guide 
and mother. Uneducated, yet there was about her an in- 
nate loveliness of womanhood that won Mrs. Merilton’s 
heart, so she was the only one who received a cordial invita- 
tion to come whenever she could, “ for you are always wel- 
come,” Mrs. Merilton said. “ Thank you, Mrs. Merilton,” 
the girl had answered, blushing with pleasure at the lady’s 
kind words. “ But I fear that I can not come often. There 
is a great deal to be done where there are so many children. 
I try my best, but am ashamed I can not do better. And 
the poor children ! Don’t think ill of them if they are 
rude and rough. They’ve had so little teaching ; have 
grown up wild, and uncared for, as the sage brush.” And 
the girl’s eyes had glistened with tears, as she made this 
plea for the wild little band she was vainly trying to soften 
and restrain. Mrs. Merilton took her hand as if they were 


22 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


friends, holding it, as she said : “ Dear girl ! I believe we 
are judged, not by what we do, but by our opportunities 
and ability. Were I in your place, I do not think I could 
do so well. Even if you can not spare the time to call, think 
of me as a friend. And should you need a friend let me 
know, and I will not fail you.” 

Then, most rare demonstration for her, she kissed the 
girl’s cheek, and stood on the doorstep, watching her go 
down the mountain path to the road below. When she 
looked back and kissed her hand, Eliza felt a thrill of pleas- 
ure, for she knew those few kind words had brightened a 
trying life. 

Before May was half over every woman in the camp, with 
one exception, had called on Mrs. Merilton. And finding 
these fashionable people of Cetewayo well versed in at least 
this rule of etiquette, Eliza had returned their calls within 
the prescribed week. Their homes were mostly cabins of 
one room, wherein they lived, cooked, slept, entertained 
their company, and discussed the latest style in which to 
make up their calicoes or trim their hats. With her return 
visit the acquaintance generally ended, for, with the excep- 
tion of Eleanor Hill, the young girl who had so attracted 
her, Mrs. Merilton did not please the critics of this mount- 
ain camp. They felt contempt for a woman who could 
afford to keep a servant and wear silks, yet was so indiffer- 
ent to the fashions. 

Em’s nose went higher and higher, and she kept up a con- 
stant muttering about “ poor white trash,” while the ladies 
of the town were gratifying their curiosity by calling on her 
mistress. “ I wouldn’t hab ’em come to see me, and 
how Miss ’Liza can have de patience to ’low sech trash to 
come and take up her valerable time, jes’ s’prises me,” she 
would say to her pots and pans, with an extra flourish as she 
put them in place. As for herself, she treated with con- 


“ MAKING A CQ UA1NTANCESA 


2 3 


tempt their invitations to call upon them. For in the far 
West, while a mining camp is in its infancy and has not 
reached even the vigorous youth of success, there are no 
grades in society. All men and women, black or white, 
ignorant or cultured, pure or foul, are spoken of as equals. 
The Chinese alone stand as things apart. Excellent miners, 
especially in placer digging, they keep to themselves, and, 
except in the relation of laundrymen or restaurant keep- 
ers, have rarely any intercourse outside of their own com- 
munity. 

The one exception in the camp, who had never yet called 
on Mrs. Merilton, washer nearest neighbor. At the foot of 
the mountain, whereon Eliza's house was situated, was a 
small log cabin of two rooms. Here this neighbor lived with 
her father. The windows were shaded by snowy cotton 
curtains, and the ground around the cabin, being less rocky 
than anywhere else in the camp, was cultivated into a really 
pretty garden. The public road ran between this little 
place and the trail that led to the Meriltons’ cottage. Eliza 
had never chanced to be near enough to seethe face of this 
neighbor, but her figure was tall, and in most beautiful pro- 
portions, and her movements were vigorous and graceful — 
thus much distance did not conceal. And Harry, who was 
always begging to run down to see her, said she was a 
“ regular trump.” She let him go into her stable, feed her 
horse, and gather the new-laid eggs, and always told him to 
come again whenever mamma called him home, so he didn’t 
see why mamma should be so afraid of his tiring “ Kath,” 
as he familiarly called this rather grand-looking young 
woman. For she liked him and he liked her, and he meant 
to marry her when he grew up. He had told her so. And 
she had promised to wait. As she didn’t like men, she 
thought they were a mean lot, and he was a heap nicer, being 
a boy. All of which valuable information the little fellow 


24 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


gave his mother, while he was lying full length on the floor 
at her feet, rolling his curly head, and looking as wise as a 
pair of laughing blue eyes would let him. 

Em, too, was an ally of “ Miss Kath’s.” She was a “ real 
lady,” Em said. And lady, Eliza knew her to be, though 
she had never spoken to her, and though, to her amaze- 
ment, she rode horseback astraddle, like an Indian squaw. 

Once Em had taken baby Hannah down to the little 
cabin, and had come back laden with flowers and gossip. 
“ Lor, Miss 'Liza, her room’s dat neat you could eat off de 
floo’. An’ she’s a very pretty lady, wid great big black eyes, 
bigger and prettier than the pretty squaw’s. She don’t 
war nothing but caliker, but she wars it like a lady. And 
she showed me de lubliest flowers she found among de 
rocks. Cactus blooms, she calls ’em. And said I mus’ 
put 'em in your settin’ room to make you feel homelike. 
She showed me whar to get ’em too, and Harry and me’s 
goin’ to get some to-morrow. Ain’t we, Harry ? ” 

“ Yes, if Kath’ll go,” answered Master Harry. The young 
man evidently felt the right of proprietorship in this Diana, 
and was proud to show it. 

Eliza’s visitors had told her that Kathrine Gordon lived 
in the cabin with her old father, and that though they were 
as poor as poverty, she was the most “ stuck up piece ” in the 
world. 

But Eleanor Hill had given a modification of this. She 
said that Miss Kathrine Gordon, with her old father, had 
come to the camp more than ten years ago, when she was a 
very young girl ; that they had spent some money, but that 
the old gentleman “ did not seem to manage well,” for he 
had never realized a cent. She said they had a quartz 
claim that was considered valuable, but all they could do 
now was the assessment work ; and then wait for some- 
thing to “turn up.” They had also a good placer claim. 


MAKING A CQ UAINTANCES. ' 


25 


from which they washed out enough to buy food. She 
added that Miss Gordon was counted a “ first rate miner.” 

She had never called on Miss Gordon, because she came 
to the camp after the Gordons did, but they always spoke 
pleasantly when they met. Having heard enough to interest 
her, Eliza wished she could know this young lady who 
seemed determined to keep to herself, but just about this 
time, six months after their arrival in Cetewayo, there oc- 
curred an event which put every thing else out of their 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER III. 


“square men. 


S has been said, Owen had put men to work on “ Cal- 



i\ ifornia ” ledge — fourteen in all. But even this small 
number at four dollars each per shift makes something of 
an item at the end of a month. A road had been built from 
the mine to the mill ; engineers had been engaged ; and in 
a few days the mill was to be started. When, one evening, 
just as the Meriltons were about to retire, there was a knock 
at the door. 

Eliza opening it, saw two very tall men, who asked for 
“Mr. Merilton.” 

“ Why, Bob and Si, what’s the matter ? ” Owen said, giv- 
ing each a hearty shake of the hand. For a moment the 
men were silent, fidgeting on their chairs, as if they had 
something unpleasant to say. At last, the man he had 
called Bob, a fine handsome young fellow, with bright blue 
eyes and curly brown hair, after clearing his throat several 
times, began : 

“ Well, Mr. Merilton, we’ve thought, my pardner and me, 
as how we’d refuse the job. We’re poor men, and four dol- 
lars per day is somethin’ to us. But you seem a fair and 
square man. And it’s a shame to rob you. There’s nothin’, 
sir, in ‘ The California.’ Bob stopped for breath, and then 
went on. 

“ Cap Alcorn’s a clever sharper. Since the fine rich 
rock you found on the dump, there’s nothin’ in the whole 
ledge worth a penny, and it’s our belief it’s been salted on 


“SQUARE MEN V 


27 


you, and ef you have a mill run the first few tons’ll be salted 
too, jes’ to lead you to spend more money. You see, the 
Cap’s got a lien on every feller he’s given a job to. Each 
chap pays him part o’ his wages, it’s a reg’lar agreement. 

“ And as long as he can keep up the play, he has a tidy 
bit o’ business. It’s astonishin’ how long a man’ll go on, 
sinkin’ money in the ground, when to thinkin’ eyes there 
ain’t the ghost of a chance. I guess Cap thought as how you’d 
do likewise. And he’d no fear of any one tellin’ you, sir. 

“ They’re all afeared of Cap Alcorn in this camp ’cause 
he killed a man, jes’ afore you corned here, for only sayin’ 
he was goin’ to trick a greenhorn. That was you, sir. But 
my pardner and me, sir, we thought we’d as soon kill him 
as fool you.” To all of Bob’s words, Si kept a nodding ac- 
companiment, looking at him with silent admiration. 

Owen turned very pale. It was evident that the men 
were honest. He knew but little of mining, and had trusted 
implicitly to Captain Alcorn, who, if they were not preju- 
diced, was a villain. Too much amazed to speak, he sat 
like one stunned, thinking, or rather trying to think. 

“ Well, mister,” said the man called Si, “ we doesn’t ask 
yer ter take our word fer it, agin your superintendent. 
But when yer come to the mine to-morrow mornin’, select 
yer rock yerself, from twenty different places. Get five 
or six o’ the men to pan it fer yer, and, ef yer gets more’n 
one color, in the whole lot, my pard an’ me’ll work for yer 
a month for nothin’ but the pleasure o’ sarvin’ yer.” 

“ Yer see, Mr. Merilton,” said Bob, who was the younger 
and gentler in his voice and manner, “yer see Cap Al- 
corn, controllin’ the workin’s, has forbid any o’ the miners, 
under penalty o’ losin’ the job, from doin' any pannin’. The 
rock looked barren, and so, contrary to orders, Si and me’s 
kept pannin’ reg’lar, for a week past. We ain’t never got 
a color ; and every day we’ve heard Cap tell yer it was fine 


28 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


rock, till we jes’ made up our minds that money made by 
cheatin’ a square man, who don’t know nothin’ about minin' 
warn’t wuth the havin’. There’s honor among miners, an’ 
we’re mighty sorry you’ve been plucked by a sharper. He 
ain’t no honest prospector, nor miner. He ain’t nothin’ but 
a re-locator. Jest a-watchin’ out when some poor devil, 
beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, ain’t been able to do assessment 
work, and jest a-jumpin’ his claim. That’s his game.” Bob’s 
nose gave emphasis to his contempt as he spoke. “ They’re 
all afeard on him, ’cause he killed poor Dick Phillips for 
callin’ him a sharper, and a-tellin’ him if he was a-goin’ to 
get a man in with big capital, to sell him some prospect that 
would help the camp out, and not ter fool a stranger. Then 
Cap called to him, and told him to 1 heel' himself. They 
stood jest opposite each other, down there near the store, 
and the boys stood ’round to see the fun. Poor Dick’s bul- 
let fell harmless agin a rock ; the Cap’s struck him in the 
heart. It weren’t much fun for Dick. Poor fellow ! 
He’d been on a little drunk, and wasn’t himself, or perhaps 
the captain wouldn’t ha’ got off so easy. Si and me was 
away at the time, prospectin’. We was orful sorry when we 
come back, to find poor Dick six foot under the rocks of the 
graveyard. Well, sir, sence that time, Cap Alcorn has jest 
bossed this camp. There’s lots o' men who could give him 
odds, and kill him. But they ain’t none o’ them willin’ to 
make an enemy of a man who’ll call ’em out when they’ve 
too much liquor in them, and shoot ’em down like dogs. 
But my pard and me’s swore off for a year, so we’re not 
afeard.” And Bob’s bright blue eyes fairly twinkled at the 
prospect of a fight with the redoubtable captain. 

Owen was sitting with his elbow on the table, shielding 
his eyes from the light. Even yet he had not fairly recovered 
himself. 

This sudden awakening from delightful dreams had for 


“ SQUARE men: 


29 


the moment stupefied him. The money he had accumulated 
by years of steady work was nearly all put in the ground. 
“ Seeds,” he had called it, “ from which will spring a plentiful 
harvest of gold.” But if what he had heard was truth, his 
money was buried, lost forever ; and there would be no har- 
vest from it, except the bitterness of the knowledge of evil. 

Eliza stood beside her husband, her hand resting on his 
shoulder. She knew how much had been spent, how little 
was left. Her heart did not quail, but it bled for his dis- 
appointment, for she knew how great, how bitter, it was. 

Turning to the elder of the men, she asked calmly : 

“ If every thing you’ve said proves true, what chance is 
there of getting our money back ? ” 

“ Well, ma’am, there ain’t no chance out of the ‘ California.' 
But thar’s one or two rich prospects in this camp, that’ll more 
than pay Mr. Merilton what he’s spent. The Giant Mine, 
that goes with the mill, has a two-foot ledge o’ good ore. 
It would ha’ made money afore this, but the pards was 
always a-quarrelin’ among themselves, and never could 
agree as to the workin’. They sent a chap down here, a 
sharp 'un. He was the superintendent. He took out a 
lot o’ rich rock, milled it, salted down the profits, and then 
left the camp, and the company owin’ fer every thin’, even 
the hard labor o' the poor miner.” Si grew interested in 
his theme. Letting out his strong voice as if he were di- 
recting a shift of men, the little house echoed with his words. 
“ Minin’s a bisness, sir. And a gent, afore he puts his 
money in the ground, ought to larn a little o’ her way. She 
ain’t the tricker. She’s true every time, and gives us lots 
o’ signs, when the ledge is a-goin’ to pinch out, or comes in 
agen. It’s our own hopes that fools us, and our theories. 
We’ve all got ’em. I laugh at another man’s, but I’ve got 
mine. And I guess other fellers laughs at me. But, there’s 
rules the same in ledge matter as in spellin’ and in writin’. 


30 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


I guess yer’d beat me on the spell, but I could teach yer a 
little minin’, and I’ll do it ef yer likes. My lessons have 
been hard larned. I've larned ’em with death lookin’ at 
me out o’ powder smoke, bad air, failin’ rock, and the 
dangers as only a miner knows on when he’s down hundreds 
o’ feet below where the children is a-gatherin’ flowers over 
his head." 

Then the old fellow stopped suddenly, as if ashamed of 
speaking his thoughts. He pulled himself up with a jerk, 
and said bashfully : 

“ Come, Bob, we’ve said our say. And now, mister and 
missus, good-night to you. Only I wish we’d brought you 
better tidin’s." 

The two big fellows, "standing up in the little room, looked 
so tall, their heads seemed to touch the ceiling as Owen rose 
also, and gave each a hand. 

“ My men, I thank you for your honesty. I fear it is all 
truth. I have lost a good deal of money, but I am not a 
child to waste time in regrets. Keep your places in to- 
morrow’s shift. I will be up by noon and follow your 
advice about the panning. If it proves as you say, I will 
stop work and pay off the men. Then, Si, I will take 
some lessons from you in practical mining, and will write to 
the owners of the other half of the ‘ Giant.’ If they agree 
to put up their share, I will at once begin work on that 
mine. Good-night. You have treated me as a friend, and 
I have given you my confidence. I am speaking to men 
who can be trusted." 

“ Bless yer," said Si, while he almost crushed Owen’s 
hand in his strong grasp, “ I glories in yer pluck.” 

Then Eliza held out her soft hand. The miners took it 
in their horny palms. They held it for a moment as if it were 
a baby’s, and they were afraid to hurt anything so small and 
white ; then saying good-night they took their departure. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A LITTLE ENCOUNTER. 

T HE next morning Owen started betimes for the mine. 

During the restless hours of the night he had deter- 
mined on his course of action. He would have the pan- 
ning done when Alcorn was not present, else he might 
intimidate the men and in some way keep up the fraud. 
Then, should Si and Bob have spoken the truth, he would 
stop the work, giving Alcorn no other reason than his con- 
viction that there was no ore worth milling. 

As his horse climbed the mountain trail toward the mine 
and the wind blew fiercely around him his heart sank 
within his breast. He thought of the happy home from 
which he had brought his wife and children, and of the loss 
of time, money and connections, which made the past 
almost irrevocable ; the wind seeming to laugh at his anx- 
ious thoughts as for a moment he yielded to despondency. 
Then his naturally hopeful nature asserted itself. “Well,” 
he said to himself, “ I will not give up so easily. There 
must be a great mine somewhere in this region, where 
gold is found in every direction. And why should not I 
be the man to strike it ? He is a poor soldier who would 
give up a war because his first battle failed, and the general 
was a traitor. No, I will try it with the ‘ Giant’ ledge. If 
that fails, I shall look up other partners and resources. 
Succeed I will, and here in this very camp,” he said, deter- 
minedly, as the “ California ” was reached. Fastening his 
horse to the post below the dump, Owen entered the tun- 


3 2 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


nel. The ground had not been hard, so the tunnel was a 
long one. He had soon lost the glimmer of daylight, and 
but for the candle in his hand, would have been in blackest 
darkness. By the shaft where the windlass was placed, 
two men stood awaiting the filling of the bucket at the 
bottom, nearly a hundred feet below. At the signal the 
men began to turn the windlass, bending to it with all the 
force of their sinewy arms. They had greeted Owen with 
a little nod and “ Mornin’, sir,” and then had given their 
whole attention to their work. When the bucket was 
raised and emptied, Owen said to the man who had turned 
to push out the car : 

“ Stay at the windlass for a few moments, Murphy, I’m 
going down the shaft and may soon want to come up.” 

Murphy looked around and then said, hesitatingly : 
“ Sure, sir, an’ are ye a-goin’ to trust yirsilf down the shaft 
alone ? ” Then he looked around again, as if uneasily 
waiting for some one. 

“ Yes,” answered Owen, with a smile, “ I intend to trust 
myself alone down any shaft I may be working.” He 
stepped into the waiting bucket and went down, until the 
light above seemed a distant glimmering star, and the light 
below grew brighter every moment. 

The Murphy to whom Owen had spoken was a young 
Irishman, Alcorn’s factotum, and completely under his 
control. Unlike the generality of his countrymen, he 
rarely spoke, and lacked all fondness for a laugh or joke. 
When not at work he was always to be found near Alcorn. 
And while there did not seem any affection or con- 
geniality between the two, there was certainly a strange in- 
timacy. 

When Owen had gone down the shaft, Murphy made 
several excuses to go out to the mouth of the tunnel. After 
a little while he returned with Alcorn. The captain gener- 


A LITTLE ENCOUNTER. 


33 


ally looked pleasant, but this morning he was frowning and 
very angry. 

“ Curse you,” the man at the windlass heard him say to 
Murphy, as they walked into the tunnel ; “ curse you, you 
damned fool ! What made you let him go down ? ” 

“ And, thin, will you plase tell me how was I to pervent ? 
When the master comes an’ sez, ‘ Let down the bucket,’ 
could I be a-sayin’ no ? ” 

“ You damned idiot ! Why didn’t you break the rope, or 
the bucket, as you emptied the rock ? What’s the good of 
the knife in your pocket if it couldn’t cut a piece of hemp ? ” 
“ Begorra, thin, Captain Alcorn, but ye’re a villen,” Mur- 
phy had answered in tones of admiration. When they 
reached the turn in the tunnel, and Alcorn saw the man 
who might be listening to them, he stopped talking, but 
the ugly frown deepened on his face, as he came to the 
shaft and looked down. There was no sound of picks, 
only a subdued murmur of voices. He gave the signal to 
send up the bucket. It was unheeded. 

He bit his mustache, and glared in furious rage, while 
his long, thin fingers kept opening and closing, as if they 
were longing to clutch somebody’s throat. After a little 
the signal to raise the bucket being given, the men began 
to turn the windlass. As the bucket neared the platform, 
Alcorn saw the two miners he hated, Bob Goulding and 
Silas Doone. They had not been put on by him, but by 
Merilton, about a month before. Owen had taken a fancy 
to their faces. Pleased with their apparent devotion to 
each other, he had given them work, on finding they wanted 
a job ; speaking kindly to them, as he did to all, he had 
won their liking. “ Well,” Alcorn said roughly, “ what do 
you mean by leaving off work ? ” 

“ Mr. Merilton told us to come up,” answered Bob. 

“ Discharged you as worthless ? ” And the captain 


34 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


laughed sneeringly. Bob’s clinched fist rose with a good, 
direct aim at Alcorn’s face, but Si caught it, saying : 

“ Hold, youngster ! No fighting now. Ef we’re dis- 
charged, we’re not the only ones, the Cap’ll find out.” 

And Si returned Alcorn’s sneer with a great “ ha, ha,’’ 
that made the silent tunnel ring as if a thousand giants had 
laughed. 

“ Let down the bucket, boys,” he said, “ for there’s more 
to come.” Suddenly Alcorn pushed the other man away 
from his post and stood turning the windlass with Murphy. 
The men working the windlass stood on a little wooden 
platform, right over the deep shaft. There was no place 
to tussle, for a fall meant a horrible death. When he was 
pushed aside, Dan, as he was called, narrowly escaped being 
precipitated to the bottom. He looked pale and frightened, 
saying no word against Captain Alcorn’s arrangements. 
Si, however, was not afraid. “ Why, Cap,” said he, “ how’s 
this ? When did you turn honest miner ? It ain’t true, Cap. 
You can’t stand in our place.” And then putting one 
strong hand on the windlass, with the other he struck 
Alcorn a blow which threw him back on the rock of the 
tunnel, where he fell with a thud. And Si was windlass- 
man. At this change Murphy moved uneasily. “ Keep 
yer place, Murphy,” Si said, fixing his eyes sternly on the 
Irishman. “ My mother came from yer country. And she 
taught me thar was never an Irishman who turned traitor 
to a fair and kind master.” Then he called Bob to pick up 
the captain. “ I guess I’ve knocked the wind clean out o’ 
him. Well, he had too much of it at any rate.” And Si’s 
mouth broadened as if about to give forth another great 
laugh. But he changed his mind as the bucket came up to 
the platform and Owen with a miner stepped out. Owen 
held in his hand a sack of what seemed to be rock. He 
was smiling. No one would have suspected how down- 


A LITTLE ENCOUNTER. 


35 


hearted he felt. It was not only that he feared both time 
and money would prove a dead loss, but that he had been 
deceived by one he had trusted. He, however, bowed po- 
litely to Alcorn, who, looking very pale, was standing near 
Si. “ Good morning, Merilton.” Alcorn’s smile was as 
pleasant as ever as he said, “ You’re up early, to-day.” 
And his voice was too soft for it even to be suspected that 
he had just hissed in Si’s ear : 

“ Curse you ! I’ll pay you with interest ! ” At which Si 
had sniffed contemptuously. Then noticing the bag in 
Owen’s hand, Alcorn said : 

“ Sampling rock ? I’ll carry it for you.” 

“ Thanks, no ; I am going to turn practical miner, so I’ll 
have to learn to carry sacks of rock,” was Owen’s reply. 
Alcorn grew a shade paler. It was as he suspected ; Owen 
had begun to doubt him. 

Without another word, calling Bob, Si and Dan from the 
windlass, Owen, with the other miners, walked out of the 
tunnel, and giving to each some of the rock he had brought 
up from the bottom, told them to pound and pan it. Once 
more Alcorn tried to prevent what he knew would follow as 
a result of honest panning. 

“ Let me take a hand in it,” he said, still pleasantly smil- 
ing. 

“ No, captain,” Owen answered firmly, “ we will look on.” 
And he looked straight in Alcorn’s eyes, with his own clear 
honest ones. For a moment the captain returned Owen’s 
steady gaze ; then glanced away, moved uneasily, and 
weakly tried to laugh. In his heart he was cursing Owen 
Merilton, whom, from that moment, he hated bitterly, and 
was already trying to think of some way to revenge himself. 
He hated the man who had helped, trusted and benefited 
him, and vowed revenge upon him because he would no 
longer be a dupe. 


3 ^ 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


The miners pounded the rock and panned it carefully. 
Owen stood watching them. His face, from which the 
smile had faded, was very pale and resolute. The wind 
blew and howled around them like the voices of lost spirits, 
exulting in human woe and sin, exulting in man’s disap- 
pointment in man. At last it was over ! And there was not 
a color ! 

It was no surprise to the miners. They had more than 
suspected that all the work done was worthless, and the 
money thrown away. The men put down the pans and 
waited. “ Si,” said Owen, “ call up the miners and tell 
them that work on the ‘ California ’ is over for the present. 
Tell all to come to the office to-morrow and get their wages.” 
Without a word, Dan took his bucket and went down the 
trail. Bob with his in hand waited for Si, who had walked 
back into the tunnel to discharge Mr. Merilton’s order. A 
few moments, and the men filed out, eight in all, half bow- 
ing to Owen as they passed. 

“ See the night shift,” Owen called to Si, as he joined the 
file of men going down the mountain trail. “Tell them 
work is stopped. They will call at the office to-morrow 
with the others.” 

“ Ay, ay, sir,” answered Si, sailor-fashion. 

There is a wonderful similarity between the miner and 
the sailor. They have the same indifference to danger in 
general, the same devotion to the mine or ship on which 
they chance to be employed, and the same reckless extrav- 
agance and improvidence for the future. Among the miners 
the ship comes in port every monthly pay day. And, while 
four dollars per day seems a great sum to a poor fellow 
supporting a family on half the amount, these miners think 
nothing of spending in a single night what has taken them 
a month to earn. The immense valleys of Nevada are like 
waveless seas, the mines like the ships. Employed in a 


A LITTLE EN CO UN TEE. 


37 


mine the men generally work faithfully, but like the sailor 
need a superior officer’s superintendence ; yet they, identify 
themselves with the mine, and feel a sort of partnership with 
their fellow-miners. But if among these extravagant and 
generous fellows, there is one sensible enough to save his 
hard-earned dollars, he must also be brave, as he will find 
himself the object of many a sneer from his more reckless 
companions, who enjoy wasting their money, and have no 
thought of the long, tiresome days, when they are “ dead 
broke ” and looking for a job. 

When the last man disappeared, on the trail curving 
around the mountain side, Alcorn turned to Owen. “ What 
do you intend to do ? ” he asked roughly. “ Try to recover 
in some way the money I have buried in this hole in the 
ground,” was Owen’s quiet answer. “ What do you mean 
by ‘ hole in the ground ? ’ Don’t dare to give the camp a 
black eye ! If you do, either you or I will have to be buried 
in a ‘hole in the ground’ over yonder at the graveyard.’ 
Alcorn hissed the words through his teeth. He was trem- 
bling with rage. One hand was clinched, the other was 
held behind him, in the manner familiar to mining camps, 
when but another word is needed to bring out the loaded 
pistol, ready to send its bullet crashing through head or 
heart. Owen saw the motion. He did not move. His 
eyes, full of scorn, were fixed on Alcorn, as he said : “ I 
have been your dupe. But you can not make me fear you. 
For a bully, I can only feel contempt. You can not shoot 
me down like a dog. Unarmed, I can conquer you , Cap- 
tain Alcorn ! ” 

Owen Merilton was a handsome man, above medium 
height, and splendidly made, the possessor of regular 
features, clear blue eyes, and a mass of light brown curls. 
But never looked handsomer than now, in the position of a 
practiced athlete watchful of the slightest movement of the 


3 § 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


man opposite. They were on a narrow ledge of rocks. 
Above them towered a giant mountain, below them yawned 
a frightful abyss. As Owen said the word “ unarmed,” 
Alcorn drew his pistol, but before he had time to level it, it 
was knocked out of his hand, and fell down, down, dashing 
against the rocks as it went, sending out its bullet, wakening 
a volley of echoes in the silent canyon. Then grasping 
the captain around his waist with an iron embrace that 
stopped his breathing, Owen lifted him off his feet, and for 
an instant held him, powerless, over the terrible road his 
pistol had taken. 

Alcorn’s face paled to ashy white. He who had never 
spared an enemy, thought his hour had come. For a 
moment only, Owen held him thus, then threw him in scorn 
and in safety, near the tunnel mouth. “ Keep your life, and 
make a better use of it,” he said, as he sprang down the 
trail to the spot where his horse was waiting. He had been 
in a transport of rage, and had very nearly taken a human 
life. His heart was light and thankful that he had not 
soiled his soul with such a crime, and he smiled as he mur- 
mured : “ Eliza’s prayers kept me from it. The dear girl ! ” 

The sweet face of his wife, with its tender brown eyes, 
arose before him, clearer and brighter than at any time since 
this Midas-like longing for riches had possessed his soul. 
He wanted to be near her, to hear her voice. So putting 
spurs to his horse he was soon in sight of his little home. 
There stood Eliza on the steps watching for him. The 
baby was in her arms, and Harry at her side. 

How beautiful his wife looked, with her delicate figure, 
her exquisitely fair face, her brown hair, and lovely great 
brown eyes, full of devotion for him ! 

A charming family group ! And all his own. Surely, he 
had a great deal to live for, even if the money was almost 
gone ! Putting an arm around wife and baby he pressed 


A LITTLE ENCOUNTER. 


39 


them to his heart, and though a ruined man, he felt happier 
than for a year past. 

Entering the house, Owen threw himself on the lounge, 
and holding his wife’s hand told her of all the occurrences 
of the morning. This husband and wife had no .secrets from 
one another, and if, when he was absorbed in thought and 
absent minded, she felt lonely, she never doubted him, or 
his love ! 


CHAPTER V. 


“ A PURTY GAL, AN* PLUCKY ! ” 

S EVERAL minutes passed before Alcorn arose from the 
spot where Owen had thrown him. He had fallen on some 
soft earth that had been cleared from an opening in the 
tunnel, so was not much hurt; but he was fairly crazed with 
rage. Oaths crowded each other from his mouth, like the 
vipers in the fairy tale, as rising slowly, he straightened 
himself with difficulty, feeling very sore from Owen’s iron 
clasp about his body. He drew several deep breaths before 
he could recover, then, holding out his arm and shaking 
his clinched hand at the retreating figure on horseback, 
the curses began anew. His eyes had lost their blue and 
gleamed steely white in his distorted face. His tall figure 
swayed to and fro in the intensity of his rage. With his 
long white teeth fairly grinding at his own impotency, he 
looked like a fiend out of hell, to whom any crime was pos- 
sible. After a little, the lost pistol came back to his mem- 
ory, and he leaned over the steep descent, to see if there 
was a glimmer of it in the sunshine. Just now, he could not 
easily replace it. The five thousand dollars from Owen had 
been lost between some stock speculations in San Fran- 
cisco and the gaming table. Feeling he had a goose with 
golden eggs, he had not saved any money, and now that the 
goose was killed for him, he became anxious about the 
pistol. On that pistol depended not only his own bravery, 
but his safety, for he knew he was hated, as well as feared, 
in the little camp, and that his funeral would be even more 


A PURTY GAL , AN' PLUCKY ! 


41 


of a gala occasion than such ceremonies were generally 
among this class, who looked upon them as one of their few 
amusements. So fancying he saw the glint of the barrel in 
the ravine, he swung himself over the edge of the precipice, 
and, clinging to bush and rock, was soon lost to view in the 
depth below. As he disappeared, a man’s face peeped from 
a jutting rock, and Murphy came out. He leaned over the 
ledge of rock peering down after Alcorn, shaking his head. 
“ Begorra, but the mester had him noicely. An’ sure why 
didn’t he jest let him go ? Och, an’ I’d been glad of it, 
poor divil that I am ! An’ he kapin’ me so afeard o’ state's 
prison I dasn’t say me sowl’s me own. Och, thin, I hope 
he don’t find the pistol.” He sighed heavily, waited a moment 
or so, and then taking the trail across the mountains, went 
up the gulch to his cabin. After he had gone, Si appeared 
on the scene. His face was one broad grin. Throwing his 
arms around himself he began a series of capers that looked 
very much like an elephant’s dance, as he shouted : 

“ Oh ! I wouldn’t ha’ lost that for a year’s wages. It 

was the finest thing I ever seed. And the funniest ” 

Here his laugh broke out and took up all his breath. He 
laughed until his face grew purple, when, after another 
series of extraordinary gyrations, he felt somewhat relieved, 
wiped his eyes and went on, addressing the silent rocks. 

“ Jes’ to see the little feller, so young and fair-lookin’, 
lift that great, tall villain, as ef he’d been a baby. And 
then, ter ride off, so calm-like, jes’ as ef he’d done nothing. 
Ha \ Ha ! ” 

Still laughing and talking to himself, he started on the 
miner’s trail to the road below, which led direct to the camp, 
where the citizens were discussing the event of the day, 
with some excitement. There was much fault-finding 
when it was known that Mr. Merilton had stopped work, for 
the little camp had prospered while so much money was in 


42 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


circulation. And now, all was to be stopped, because noth- 
ing rich had yet been struck ! Owen, who had thus far 
received only adulation, found himself the object of severe 
criticism. Every one felt personally aggrieved, and had no 
appreciation of the money spent. A great many speeches, 
aimed at him, would reach his ears as he passed quietly 
along the road. “Tender-foot.” “Easily frightened.” 
“ Not pluck enough to be a miner.” And like phrases. Fi- 
nally, one day Si and Bob had a fight with several men 
about Mr. Merilton. They were lounging about the butch- 
er’s shop, when some one said, “ That Merilton was a 
fraud. He had come out to Cetewayo, had made every one 
think he was going to bring the camp out, and had ended 
by cheating a poor man out of his property.” 

“ That’s a lie,” roared Si. He stood up, and bared his 
great arms. “ And I’ll write lie on as many fellows as’ll 
dare to come here.” 

Nothing loth, four men stepped out. Bob took a hand 
in it, and there was a fight — a lively western fight. Owen 
heard of it and thanked Bob and Si for their interest in his 
affairs. 

“ But, my men,” he said, “ you can’t fight lies with blows. 
Let them lie ; they don’t hurt us. It is like the howling of 
wolves who are always found on the outskirts of civilization. 
And now, Si, from to-day I’ll employ you to teach me some- 
thing of practical mining. Bob, as soon as I’ve work to be 
done, you shall have a job. Come, let us walk now over to 
the ‘ Giant.’ ” 

“ That’s all right, sir,” answered Bob. “ But don’t you 
worry about me. Si and me has saved up our last wages. 
We don’t owe nothin’. And I’ll jest be doin’ our assess- 
ment work, while Si’s busy with you. Then we can do a 
little work on our placer claim if you don’t begin work. It’s 
a terrible rich claim. We often works it, when grub’s low.” 


“A PURTY GAP, AN' PLUCKY / 


43 


While walking on they talked, as all did here, of mines 
and mining. “ Them placers,” said Si, “ is awful rich. 
They would hfe’ made the camp a snug little place, long be- 
fore this, only thar’s so little water. A man can’t get water 
enough, but jest to rock a little. Any feller can go to the 
placers and take out a grub stake any day, but as fer makin’ 
money with that little bit o’ water, ’tain’t possible. It’s only 
a chance nugget that sets some fellers ahead. It’s my 
theory all that gold’s jest a-floated down from some rich 
ledge up these mountains, and I believe old Gordon’s ledge 
is the one, but the pore old man ain’t good for much. He’s 
jest that easy fooled, he’d a given it up long ago ef it 
warn’t fer that gal o’ his. She’s a plucky one. And purty 
too, with them great black eyes a-lookin’ a feller through. 
And when the old man’s slack about assessment work, she 
jest jumps on her horse, takes a pick an’ shovel, an’ goes at 
it, as well as a man. Better’n some on 'em. Old Gordon’s 
orful fond o’ cards, and would ha’ played away the mine, 
but the title’s in her name, bought with her money ; an’ she 
ain’t never goin’ ter give it up, ’cept for a good round sum. 
It’s the finest ledge in the camp ; jest full o’ gold. Cap 
Alcorn tried ter get it afore you corned. He offered Gordon 
five hundred down, an’ one thousand in six months, ef he’d 
sell. The darned fool sed, ‘ All right, Cap, I agree, an’ I’ll 
try ter get Kath ter say yes.’ He was in the saloon at the 
time, an’ jest about half full. Cap thought he’d caught the 
pore old devil. But that evening, Miss Gordon corned down 
ter Lieblin’s store, an’ sent across ter the saloon fer Cap 
Alcorn. The store was full, all the fellers from the saloon 
corned over, an’ stood in the porch. We jest know’d 
there’d be some fun, an’ was ready an’ waitin.” Si’s face 
wore a broad grin, and Bob began to chuckle at the remem- 
brance. 

“ Wal, sir, Bob and me we come over from the saloon 


44 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


with the other fellers, as Cap walked into the store quiet- 
like. Up he goes to Miss Gordon, puttin’ out his hand 
with a smile a-beamin’ on his speakin’ countenance.” 

Si was growing eloquent, and so shaking with inward 
laughter, that Owen, who could not see any thing funny in 
the story, began to laugh out of sympathy. 

“ Wal, as I was sayin’, up Cap walks to Miss Gordon, an’ 
she a-standin’ so gran’ an’ tall, a-lookin’ him full in the face 
an’ not a-seein’ the wery perlite way he was a-holdin’ out his 
han’. ‘ Captain Alcorn,’ she sez in a voice quiet-like, but 
so clar, we standin’ outside could hear every word. ‘ Cap- 
tain Alcorn, the “ Monster ledge ” is my property. The 
deed is in my name, the money paid for it was my own, and 
I hev dun most o’ the assessment work. I mean no disre- 
spect to my father, but I want yous ter understan’,’ an’ turn- 
in’ an’ lookin’ roun’ jest like a queen, ‘ I calls every one 
present to bar witness, there can’t be no bargains made about 
that ledge ’cept with me. If, as my father tells me, yer hev 
a man o’ capital a-comin’ ter the camp, I’ll make him a deed 
o’ one-half, ef he’ll put up the workin’ capital and agree ter 
let me or some trusty worthy miner I’ll appint, superintend 
the workin’s. You can make your bargain with your man. 
But I’ll not sell one-quarter fer ten thousand dollars, ’less I 
wus sure the superintendent your capitalist ’ud appint ’ud 
be an honest man.’ Now she never sed no word agin him, 
but we all know’d what she meant, and he did too. His 
han’ jest fell to his side like a lump o’ lead. His face 
turned so white like, an’ he looked so mad, that ef he’d been 
alone on the mountains with Miss Gordon, I guess he’d a 
tried to kill her. But just then it ’ud ha’ been kinder dan- 
gerous fur him to ha’ sed a word to the young woman, fur 
she’d jest set all our hearts a-beatin’. Thar wasn’t an 
honest miner among us but thought p’r’aps she’d had him 
in her min’ as the man she’d trust. An’ when she spoke 


“A PURTY GAL , AN ’ PLUCKY / 


45 


the words so good and full we thought how nice it was ter 
hear her say it, and felt like givin’ her three cheers, but we 
was afraid we’d hurt her feelin’s. Miss Gordon, while she’s 
plucky, is a lady, an’ mighty tender like. Thar ain’t no 
lame cat, or dog, or sick chicken that she don’t take care 
on 'till she brings ’em ’round all right. She’s orful good to 
all the hoodlum children, but she don’t hev’ nothin’ ter do 
with the women, ’cept Nellie Hill. I heerd her say once tu 
Nellie as they was a-talkin’ on the road, ‘ Eleanor,’ sez she, 
‘ I really like yer. But we’re both on us so busy we hevn’t 
time ter spend in gossipin’.’ Wal, sir, ter come back ter 
my story. Miss Gordon looked full at Cap fer a minit, then 
bowed very grand like, an’ sed ‘ Good evenin’.’ Then she 
walked quiet-like over ter the counter and sed, jest as ef 
she was askin’ fer sugar, “ Mr. Lieblin, the cartridges don’t 
jest fit. Ain’t you got another size ?’ and she pulls out a 
small box o' cartridges an’ a mighty nice pistol from her 
skirt somewhere, and Lieblin, who’d be soft over her ef he 
dar’d, was mighty pleased to wait on her. After he’d 
changed the cartridges an’ she’d slipped ’em back in her 
pocket, she turned ’round and spoke to some miners, jest 
as kind like as ef she’d been one o’ 'em, and then, when she 
see’d Bob an’ me at the door, she put out her han’ and 
gives us both a good, hearty shake, an’ sez : 1 When did 

you get back ? I hopes yer struck it rich in yer travils.’ 
She was just as mild an' sweet as your own lady, an’ didn’t 
hev any o’ these gran’ high ways as with Cap. All this 
time her father’d been standin’ in the back o’ the store. 
The ole man 'ud ha’ been very mad with his brave gal, who 
was fightin’ fer him as well as fer her, but he can’t seem ter 
feel any thing very strong now. So when she said ter him, 
* Father, are you cornin’ ? ’ He answered pettish-like, jest 
as ef he’d been a child, ‘ Can’t yer leave me in peace, Kath- 
rine ? ' She never sed no word more 'cept ‘ good-night,’ 


4 6 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


though I could see suthin’ like a tear glistin’ in them big 
eyes, as he spoke so cross-like ter her, the ole cuss, fer she’s 
an orful good gal ter that ole man, tendin’ him like a baby 
when he’s down with rheumatiz’ an’ a-workin’ day an’ night, 
even place diggin’, ter git him grub ter eat. 

“ Wal, sir, as Cap foun’ out he couldn’t fool with Miss 
Gordon, an’ knowed she went ‘ heeled ’ too, he ain’t never 
spoke to her, nor of her, since that night. But ef he’d 
acted square with the young lady, an’ you’d got that ledge, 
1 think now by this very day you’d be a rich man. Yes, 
sir. 

“ Thar ain’t much work done thar : jest the fair assess- 
ment work fer nine or ten years, ’cept once when she’d 
raised a little money, an’ had some extra work done. I 
went in las’ year, when Miss Gordon was at work, a-pickin’ 
away like any common miner. She looked terrible pale, 
and her gloves were all stained with blood from her hands. 
I wanted her ter let me do it for her. But she said, 1 No, 
sir ; I ain’t too proud to say I’m poor ; but I am too proud 
ter take what I can’t pay for.’ Then she went ter work 
again, an’ her breathin’ a-comin’ in gasps that showed she’d 
not near as much strength as pluck ; and my heart began 
to ache so at the sight o’ her that I jist went out the tunnel 
not ter let her see the tears that was in my stupid eyes.” 

As he spoke the good fellow’s eyes were overflowing, and 
his listener felt a thrill of admiration for the quiet heroism 
of a woman taking up the daily burdens and cares of 
man’s life. 

He had just finished- his story, his eyes still glistening 
with the remembrance of Miss Gordon, when over the ridge 
of the mountain bounded two setter puppies, gamboling 
together. 

“ Them’s her dogs,” he said ; “ Miss Kathrine’s not far 
off.” 


“A PURTY GAL, AN ’ PLUCKY ! 


47 


Even as he spoke the tall figure of a woman came into 
sight. Her garments fitted closely her beautiful form ; a 
large black hat shaded a striking brunette face ; and, as she 
passed them quickly, Owen saw a pair of bright dark eyes, 
red lips parted with a smile, disclosing very white teeth ; 
and heard a rich, full voice saying : 

“ Well, Bob ! Good morning, Si.” 

For himself he received a slight bow of the handsome 
head. She was followed by a brown and white setter, evi- 
dently the mother of the puppies. The whole group, woman 
and dogs, were so thoroughly well-bred, of such different 
type from the rest of the camp, that he felt tempted to fol- 
low Si’s example, and watch her out of sight. But a gen- 
tleman could do nothing that might possibly annoy a lady. 
And a lady she was. No one could look at her, and doubt it. 
So he walked slowly on until the two miners joined him. 
“ A pretty gal an’ plucky. I’d be as glad to see her strike 
it as Bob and me,” said Si. 

In a few moments they reached the trail to the “ Giant 
Ledge,” an ascent so steep that conversation was impossible. 


CHAPTER VI. 


“ HELPMEET.” 

W HEN the “ Giant ” mine was reached Owen’s first 
lesson in mining began. For days and weeks he 
kept steadily at his new study, going to the different ledges 
throughout the camp, comparing rock, pounding, panning 
and getting a knowledge of values. 

Cetewayo was a singular camp. There seemed no regu- 
larity in the ledges, which ran in every direction. A camp 
that offered great inducement to capital ; yet the only capi- 
tal that had been brought in had gone astray. 

It was an excellent school to study formation, and all the 
different phases of mining. So Owen, being attentive and 
intelligent, and Si an experienced miner, great progress 
was made by the pupil, and the master grew very vain of 
“ the boy,” as he always called him to Bob when boasting 
of his progress. After many letters had passed between 
Owen and his partners, and matters were finally arranged, 
October was gone, and Owen was capable, with Si as fore- 
man, to superintend his own mining operations. 

The partners agreed to “ put up ” two thousand dollars 
if Owen would do the same, and Owen, always over-gen- 
erous, agreed to charge nothing for his time and superin- 
tendence. 

Once again Owen’s castles arose from their ashes into 
fair and beautiful proportions. Once again success was 
near. But Eliza, knowing how low his funds had become, 
with a loving wife’s foresight of possible evil to her hus- 


“ HELPMEET . 


49 


band, had written secretly business letters to her brother. 
She asked him to sell at once the house and grounds in 
Virginia which had been her wedding gift from this brother 
she so loved. 

It was with many a pang she decided to sacrifice her 
pretty home. But what woman hesitates at a sacrifice for 
her beloved ? And Eliza was a true woman . She had 
written regularly to her brother, but had said nothing of 
Owen's loss of money. It seemed a species of treachery 
to tell of it; at least, so her tender heart reasoned. But 
now she had to give William some cause for wanting to 
part with her home. So she wrote : 

“ We have spent a great deal more money in the mines 
than we expected. I fear Owen may possibly find himself 
pinched for lack of ready money. So, without consulting 
him, I have resolved to sell my home. I will keep it and 
its thousand happy memories deep in my heart, and you 
will not think ill of me that I purpose to part with it. 

“ Sell it for me, Will, as speedily and advantageously as 
you can, and send the money in drafts on San Francisco. 
I feel more confidence in the mines than ever before. The 
children are well and happy. Harry spends a great deal of 
his time with my unknown neighbor, Miss Gordon. He 
calls her ‘ Kath ’ in the most familiar way imaginable. 
Baby walks very well, and talks a* little. Em likes Cete- 
wayo very much. There are no differences of color or 
caste here, so she has had two offers of marriage from 
white men. But she says : ‘ ’Deed, I aint a-goin’ to marry 
and slave for no man. T’ank God, I likes my freedom too 
well.’ Her admirers come regularly and seem content to 
sit and gaze at her while she goes about her work, vouch- 
safing them only an occasional word. My pretty Nora has 
disappeared since she had the meeting with the young 
Indian. It took place in my kitchen ; not a very romantic 
place, perhaps, but one forgets place in sentiment. They 
spoke only a few words together. He took her hand and 
looked tenderly at the downcast face. Love needs no 
words ; its language all nations understand. My heart 


5 ° 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


ached for the unhappy young lovers, and I took good care 
to see there were no other Indians around to tell of Nora’s 
tryst, only the little Indian girl, who brought Wahra, as he 
is called, to see the lady of his love. 

“ 1 He heap like ’em, Nora,’ she whispered to me. And 
I putting my finger to my lip in token of secrecy, she 
shook her head and, pointing over her shoulder at the pair 
inside the door, said : ‘ Me heap sabe.’ You may think 
I’ve grown wicked, encouraging a meeting between a 
married squaw and her lover, but perhaps you will forgive 
it when I tell you ’her ‘ man Pete ’ beats this lovely creature, 
and, old wretch that he is, has another squaw. So, as we 
Catholics don’t recognize polygamy, I would encourage 
Nora’s leaving him, if she had the courage. But I fear she 
is too gentle and timid. 

“ I have seen nothing, since I last wrote, of my favorite, 
Eleanor Hill. I hear she is about to marry a man to whom 
she has been devoted for years. Occasionally one of the 
fashionable (?) ladies favors me with a call and gives me 
the gossip of the camp. There are few people, but the 
gossiping is both great and small. 

“ Do you think you will come on next summer ? We have 
a very small house, but cozy, and there’s always a place for 
you. I have never been parted so long from you except 
those long three years you spent abroad after your marriage. 
And I do want to see you. With love from us all, your 
devoted sister. 

“ Eliza Merilton.” 

Eliza’s answer to this was an affectionate letter from her 
brother, indorsing drafts on San Francisco to the amount 
of $5,000. It was the best offer he could get for the house, 
so he bought it in himself and deeded it to little Hannah. 

Eliza’s eyes were filled with tender tears as she read the 
letter. 

Owen, who had brought up the mail, was busy with his 
own letters and papers, tossing each one as he read it into 
his wife’s lap. 

When he had finished he looked up and saw Eliza with 


“ HELPMEET” 


SI 

her letter still open in her hand, and the large eyes humid 
with tears. 

“ No bad news, darling, I hope ? ” 

“ No, Owen, only — ” and Eliza, smiling to keep back the 
tears her brother's kindness had called up, handed Owen the 
letter and drafts. 

He felt deeply William Knowlton’s kindness and his wife’s 
tender love, and taking her hand he pressed it to his lips, 
murmuring, 

“ Helpmeet.” 

He had been very anxious and nervous over the great ex- 
pense of working the mine, having received only one check 
for one thousand dollars from his partners, and the pay roll 
alone for the first month, together with some unlooked for 
but necessary expenditures, would be two thousand. 
Wnile the ore which was being taken out was good, and 
the vein strong and unbroken, still, before the mill could be 
“ started up,” further expenditures might be unavoidable, 
and the draft for the other thousand dollars had not yet 
arrived. He had intended writing for it, but the money 
now in hand would obviate that necessity. He felt a pride 
in not pressing for money from the men who, strangers to 
him, were yet associated in this business, whose success 
had become part of his life ; so Eliza’s thoughtfulness was 
well timed, and he had no anxiety about expending 
more than his share, for he knew he could easily repay him- 
self out of the first week’s run. The mill was put in per- 
fect order, the engineers and feeders were at their post, 
fifty tons of ore were at the mill door, and the ore teams 
were hauling all day. Around the ore dump at the mill, 
like flies around a pot of honey, swarmed the knowing ones 
of the camp. Panning the rock, and betting on the results 
per ton, stirred them into something like excitement. 

At last the morning broke cold and bright, when, for the 


52 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


first time the shrill mill whistle rang out on the still air. 
The “ clampety-clamp-clamp ” of the great hammers, as 
they fell in quick succession, grinding the rock to finest 
powder, made sweetest music to Owen’s ears. 

Now he felt secure of his future. If he could only make 
the mine self-paying from the start, he would require no 
more capital to invest. And with the ore already taken out 
and the great number of tons in sight, he had small doubt 
of this. 

He had kept up his spirits in the midst of failure. But 
now the blue eyes shone with the brightness of hope, his 
steps grew lighter, with the lightness of his happy heart. 
The noise of the mill made the undercurrent to Eliza’s 
thoughts. To her its sound was in regular rhythm, and 
seemed to be forever repeating : 

“ Owen will soon be rich and happy.” 

It was November, but the weather was clear, and the 
wind seemed to have forgotten its fierceness. Every thing 
borrowed life and gladness from the activity of the busy 
little mill. 

Harry, in a fever of excitement, was forever about the 
engine. 

“ I’m to be engineer, just as soon as I learn how, 
and I mean to learn very soon,” he would say to his 
mother, as he ran out of the house when breakfast was over. 
He had not seen much of his friend “ Kath ” since the mill 
started. 

“ The old man was sick with rheumatism. And he 
wasn’t a nice old man. He just kept Kath on her feet 
all day until she looked sicker than he did,” he had 
informed them all at dinner, the day after the mill began 
running. 

For several days Eliza had missed the tall, graceful 
figure moving around the cabin opposite, She was 


“HELPMEET. 


53 


grieved to hear that additional cares had fallen to the girl’s 
lot, and dispatched Em with some delicacies, and her kind- 
liest offers of help. 

After a little Em came back. 

“ Lor’, Miss ’Liza, dat* ole man’s wus nor a baby. He 
jes’ keeps a-frettin’ an’ a-pettin’, an’ a-callin’ that pore 
young lady to fetch him fust one thing and then another ’till 
she looks jest as if she’d drop. When I started to help her a 
little, and wait on the cross ole gemman, he began to fret 
an' to cry. He carried on so, that Miss Kathrine, she 
turned around, and sed, ‘ Be patient, jest a little, while I 
writes a note to Mrs. Merilton.’ She spoke very soft, but 
as ef she meant it. And the ole gemman stopped right short 
an’ kep’ quiet. While she was a-writin’ I was a-watchin' 
the ole man. Do you know, Miss ’Liza,” and here Em’s 
voice sank into a mysterious whisper : “ I jest don’t believe 
he’s sick at all. He’s jest a-puttin’ on. He has handsom’ 
great eyes, somethin’ like Miss Kath’s, but dey has got a sly 
look in ’em, I don’t like. And dat look was mighty strong, 
as he was a-watchin’ his darter. He jest looked and looked 
at her, an’ while he kept quiet, I could see he ’pears jest as 
well as ever. Pore Miss Kath’s that tired out, her face is 
white as paper and her big eyes seems to cover it 
all over,” said Em, shaking her head and muttering, “ I don’t 
trust that ole man for nothin’,” as she handed her mistress 
an envelope containing the note from Miss Gordon. 

“ My dear Madam : 

“ I thank you for your kindness. Your offers of assist- 
ance I truly appreciate, while I do not at present accept 
them. My father is suffering from an attack of rheumatism, 
to which he is subject. Fortunately, being very strong, I 
need not tax your goodness. As soon as he is better I will, 
with your permission, express in person how deeply I feel 
your interest in a stranger. 


“ Kathrine Gordon. 


54 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


The note was written in a bold, free hand, characteristic 
of what she had heard of the woman, and Eliza was pleased 
with it, as with every thing that was a part of her neighbor. 

“ Miss ’Liza.” Em’s voice was so full of mystery that 
Mrs. Merilton felt sure that she w^s about to relate some of 
her wonderful dreams, and composed herself to listen ; for 
Em would have felt highly offended if “ Miss ’Liza ” had 
laughed at any of her ghostly visitations. But it was no 
dream this time, it was suspicion. One that had 
grown up in Em’s mind — a suspicion that it pained Eliza to 
hear. For, except where superstition was concerned, she 
knew Em to have good judgment and keen perceptions, 
therefore she did not make light of her words. nt Miss 
'Liza, I don’t trust dat ole man. He was a-watchin’ his 
darter jest like a cat, wid a mean look on his face. I jest 
b’lieve he’s purtendin’ to be sick. An’ dey say in de camp, 
as how it’s all a put-up job so de 'sessment work on de 
‘Monster’ can’t be dun. An’ dat Cap Alcorn’ll jump de 
ledge de fust of nex’ year, wid de consent ob de ole man. 
You see ef he keeps sick, and tires out Miss Kath, she can’t 
do de work. And if he’s sick, he can’t do it. And de pore 
young lady ain’t got de money to hab it done.” 

Em heaved a sigh, and shook her head at the terrible 
storing up for “ pore Miss Kath.” But she had not told 
this trouble in vain, for it fell upon Eliza’s gentle heart, 
that was helpful, as well as sympathizing. “ Poor girl,” 
she thought, “ you shall not be robbed of your ledge. My 
Owen will see to that ! ” She determined to give the matter 
to his charge. She could not trouble him just then, how- 
ever, for hris whole mind was absorbed in the mill run, his 
hopes again rising “sky high” in their flight, as the mill 
kept up its busy noise. 

“ Saturday morning we will clean up,” Owen had said to 
his wife on Thursday, as he kissed her good-by. “You 


“ HELP M RE T. 


55 


must surely come down to see the plates before they are 
touched.” 

“ And then,” she thought, “ when the first * clean up ’ is 
over, Owen will have lost the excitement which prevents 
him thinking of other things, then I can tell him of the new 
difficulties that surround Kathrine Gordon.” 

He would arrange every thing, she felt sure of it. He 
was her pillar of strength. She smiled, even as she thought 
of him. Friday morning at breakfast, while Em, beaming 
with smiles, was serving hot cakes, and the sunlight was not 
brighter than the faces of the little family, the regular beat- 
ing of the mill hammers came to a sudden stop, went on 
for a moment with an irregular grating sound, and then — 
there was an awful silence. 

Snatching his hat, Owen started for the mill, Harry, his 
satellite, dashing after, and Eliza, filled with anxiety and 
uncertain what accident might have occurred, gave the baby 
to Em and followed her husband and boy. As she neared 
the mill, Harry ran to meet her. 

“ Papa wants you. They’re going to clean up. A stem 
is broken, and they’ll have to shut down until they can get 
another one.” The door was closed to keep out a little 
crowd of idlers, waiting for any chance to peep at the work 
inside. At Harry’s voice the bolt was pushed aside and 
they were admitted. One of the engineers had just begun 
scraping off the front plate. It was a piece of copper, five 
feet by five, covered with quicksilver, which caught the 
precious metal from the powdered rock as the water carried 
it off. 

The amalgam is scraped off with rubber scrapers, then 
squeezed in chamois, then retorted, while the mercury 
escapes through a long tube and falls into a tub of water 
placed for it. After this process, the gold, which now looks 
like a mongrel metal, is put into a crucible, with appropri- 


5 6 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


ate quantities of flux, and reduced to a molten state. It 
is then poured into molds, sinking to the bottom, with the 
slag on top. When cold, the slag, looking like green glass, 
is knocked off, and the gold is left in all its yellow glory. 

Owen was explaining the accident to Eliza. The breaking 
of the stem might occasion great delay, as, unless a similar 
one could be found in Nappias, he would have to send to 
Salt Lake, possibly even to Chicago. A special messenger 
had been sent to Nappias, and until his return they could 
do nothing but make the best of this annoying accident. 

Suddenly there came a rap at the door, and a voice Owen 
recognized as Alcorn’s asked for “ Mr. Merilton.” 

Owen pushed open the door, leaving Eliza just inside. 
She heard Alcorn say : 

“ Here is the bill for that wood.” 

And then her husband answered : 

“ Captain Alcorn, I do not want the wood just now. As 
I told you some months ago, when I want it, I will have it 
measured, and pay for it at once. Are you the agent for 
the owners of the wood ? ” 

“ I am,” replied Alcorn. 

“ Well, when I want it I will let you know. Good-morn- 
ing,” and Owen rejoined his wife. 

The wood referred to, was a great pile opposite the mill, 
that had been ordered by the former agent of the company. 
When he left, owing a great many debts, the wood had re- 
verted to some creditors. But as this happened before 
Owen came to the camp, he had no personal interest in the 
matter, so he and Eliza soon forgot all about it, in watch- 
ing the “ clean up.” Hours passed, and Eliza still stood at 
her husband’s side, an interested looker-on. When the pro- 
cess was finished, the brick, three thousand dollars’ worth 
of gold, was placed in Eliza’s lap by her husband. 

“ At last,” he murmured as he gazed on its golden charms. 


“ HELPMEET \ 


57 


Yes, at last ! He had spent nearly thirty thousand dollars 
and eight months of his life ; had lost that tender interest 
in life’s trifles that helps to make life beautiful — and all in 
pursuit of that gleaming gold that lay in his wife’s lap. 

But he did not look back ; he was counting future gains, 
and that golden brick was the first in the tower of his am- 
bition. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A PARTING.” 



O the surprise and delight of Owen, the wished-for stem 


1 was found in Nappias. He had been obliged to pay 
dearly for it, but that mattered little, as the next runwould 
far exceed the first, for the plate, being newly amalgamated, 
poorer rock had been selected for the first run. 

The Giant Mine was looking “ jes’ splendid,” Si told Eliza 
on the day of the clean up, and Owen’s heart was light with 
hope, even though the wind was blowing a hurricane and a 
snow-storm was setting in. What matters weather to the 
contented ? But, ah, how bitter is the wind that blows on 
anxious thoughts! 

Just now, however, Owen was not anxious. He was full 
of interest, full of excitement. And so happy at the im- 
mediate prospect of another run that he lingered a few min- 
utes talking to his wife. Very fresh and fair she looked, 
with the soft waves pushed back from the lovely face and 
the sweet flush coming and going in her cheeks as she list- 
ened and answered him. She was charming — yes, she was 
charming — yet he wondered how he had found so much 
time to give to love-making ; he had nearly thought 
“wasted on love-making.” But just as this thought arose, 
the face opposite took on fresh sweetness in a smile, and even 
to eyes accustomed to the sight, Eliza Merilton was beautiful. 

It had never crossed Owen’s mind to wonder how he 
would feel if this fair creature should imitate his example, 
and become absorbed in any pursuit apart from him. 


“A PARTING. 


59 


Nor did it occur to him that while she had not forgotten 
one of the “ sweetnesses of love,” he, who really loved her, 
had put them all aside as things pertaining to the past. 

“ Well” — and he looked at his watch — “the mill was to 
start up at 8 and it is now half-past. What can be the mat- 
ter ? ” 

As if in answer to his question, the door opened, and 
Harry rushed in. 

“ Papa, the water’s frozen in the pipe that leads from the 
tank to the mill. Jim says we’ll have to dig up the pipe 
and thaw it out before the mill can start up.” 

Fresh anxieties, fresh delays ! Oh, the vexations of life, 
the difficulties that lie in the road to fortune ! 

Owen’s leisure was at an end. He hurried off to 
superintend, and if possible hasten the work. From her 
window Eliza watched the men busy with the frozen pipe, 
and between them, having a mad frolic in the snow, was 
Harry, with the two dogs belonging to Miss Gordon. 

After many hours of delay, Eliza saw the laborers throw 
more earth over the pipes and leave them as if they were 
in order. The snow had ceased, and the sun shone over a 
white world. The smoke rose in a column out of the mill 
stack, the teams laden with ore began to arrive,, and the 
little army of Indians Owen had sent to clear the roads 
were coming over the ridge of the mountain and making 
direct to the office for their “ money talk.” As the shrill 
whistle rang out with its cheery voice, telling of activity 
and progress, a smile came to Eliza’s lips. 

“ Listen, darling,” she said to little Hannah, climbing on 
her knee, “ soon we’ll have the ‘ music of the mill,’ as papa 
calls it.” 

Harry and the two dogs stopped in their play, waiting, 
as she waited, for the merry “ clampety-clamp-clamp ” of 
the mill hammers. But it did not come. 


6o 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


What could be wrong now ? 

Presently she saw her husband walking slowly toward the 
house. Too anxious to wait, she ran down the snowy trail 
to meet him. 

“ What is it, dear ? ” s lie asked. 

Looking in his face, she saw that the new care was not a 
light one. 

“ The mill is attached for debt,” he replied. 

“ What debt ? You owe nothing.” 

“ It is for a debt I do not owe,” he replied, bitterly. 
“ Captain Alcorn has been appointed deputy-sheriff. He 
has sworn out an attachment for debt, and just at the mo- 
ment of starting came in and forbade our continuing. He 
took the key of the mill, made an inventory of every thing 
contained in the building, put a man in charge, and with 
the power of the law closes, the door against the owner. 
You remember what took place the day of the ‘ clean up ? ' 
This is the sequence.” 

“ But surely, Owen, there must be some redress. Can 
not you apply somewhere and have the attachment 
removed ? ” 

“ Yes, I can and will. But I must take the journey to 
Eureka, engage lawyers, and have them apply to the judge 
for dismissal of attachment. This requires several days’ 
journey, and perhaps a long delay. And now time really 
means money. It is a piece of petty malice, an attach- 
ment procured by perjury, but, as I am uncertain how many 
will take oath in support of Alcorn’s perjury, I do not 
know how serious a case may be made against us. There 
are two hundred miles between us and any law or justice, 
and over this long road there is only an open stage. Well, 
we must endure, and do our best to battle against this 
new annoyance. Come, let us go into the house. How 
pale you look, Eliza.” And he took her cold hand in his. 


“A PARTING. 


6 1 


She did look very pale. Her face, like her heart, 
reflected, intensified, his every vexation. 

And now she must be parted from him ! It seemed to 
her as they stood together by the fire that her blood 
was turning cold as the snow which she was brushing off 
Harry’s coat. 

“ Eliza ! ” Owen had thrown himself on the sofa and 
called her to him. Baby Hannah was in her arms, and 
Harry, warmed and dried, was leaning on her shoulder. 
They all took health and comfort from her heart, and the 
loving woman was happy in giving to each of her life and 
strength. 

Owen held her hand, but had not spoken. He knew 
what he had to say would be a bitter cross for her to bear, 
but of her bearing it, he had no doubt. She knew what 
was coming. Separation from him ! How little to some 
wives, how terrible to her ! She was quiet, the sweet calm 
of her face undisturbed, but her heart was crying out and 
aching as if an iron grasp were crushing it. 

“ Eliza,” Owen said, and then paused again. 

He wanted help to say what he knew would cause her 
pain. He still hesitated, and she could not refuse the help 
he needed — he who might ask all of her life’s brightness 
and not be refused. 

“ What is it, love? You must go away ; must leave me 
here with the children and Em ? ” 

How sweet her voice was ! Owen listening, did not 
hear the half sob hidden in its sweetness. He was feeling 
greatly relieved, had dreaded a burst of tears, and was 
pleased to have her take the matter so quietly. For to 
bring her to this lonely mountain nook, and then leave her 
to its snow and wind, while he went away for weeks, per- 
haps months, was not a trivial matter. 

“ She was a dear,, sensible girl,” he thought, as he looked 


62 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


at the lovely face, with the long lashes resting on her 
cheeks. 

He did not see in her tender eyes the tears which the 
white lids were trying to press back to their source, as he 
went on : 

“ Yes, dear, it is necessary for me to go. First I must go 
to Eureka, have the attachment taken off, and engage law- 
yers to look up evidence for our side. Then I’ve made up 
my mind there’s no use in mining with so little capital. 
Even with a good mine there are a great many expenses 
and delays, and each delay causes positive embarrass- 
ment, especially with partners slack in paying dues ; so I 
will go to San Francisco and see if the other owners will 
not agree to form an incorporated company. I believe I 
shall be able to raise a good working capital, if not in San 
Francisco, in New York. My old business connections 
may be of use. There is also in New York an old friend 
of my father’s, Mr. Howell, a man of wealth, who has been 
more or less interested in mining. He has always been 
profuse in offers of influence and assistance. I shall put 
him to the test. There is an immense fortune for us all in 
this very ‘ Giant ’ ledge. And we’ll get it out. There, now, 
don’t cry ; your tears worry me.” 

For, as he went on with his plans, the dreaded separation 
grew into long months that stretched their weary desert 
before her sinking heart, and the tears, kept back by down- 
cast lids, now gushed forth from lovely, upturned eyes. 
They hung for a moment, like crystals, on the curling 
lashes, and then chased each other down the fair cheeks. 

She did not speak, did not complain, only the silent 
language of her grief told how her heart was aching as she 
listened to him. 

“ It is for you I go,” Owen went on, trying to comfort 
her. “ For you and our children. I wish I had never left 


A PARTING. 


63 


our peaceful home to engage in this desperate gamble, but 
we are in, and we must get out with some sort of stake. 
Believe me, the parting is as painful to me as to you. We 
must be brave, and you will not unman, but nerve me in 
this trial.” 

It was not often Eliza’s feelings overpowered her gentle, 
calm exterior, but she had seen enough of mining to know 
that it was of ail business the most uncertain. 

Owen spoke of a short separation. Who could tell the 
future ? Her soul was full of sad forebodings. 

Juliet’s agonized “ Think’st thou, love, we shall ever 
meet again ?” rose to her lips. For no Juliet ever loved 
more deeply, more intensely, than this fair woman who had 
kept the flame bright through the years of married life. 

But she did not utter her thought as she pressed her 
hand against her heart to still its pain, bowed her 
shoulders meekly to the cross, and while tears still hung on 
her lashes and glistened in her eyes, she said : “ God for- 
bid, Owen, that I should add to your cares. I will bear 
this parting, bitter as it is. I will not complain if only 
you keep well, love ! ” And then she smiled to cheer him. 
Harry had been a silent witness to this interview between 
man and wife. His lips had quivered in' sympathy with his 
mother’s grief, but he had manfully kept back the tears 
until now, when with a smile she pressed to her heart this 
crown of thorns. To the sympathetic instinct of child- 
hood her smile seemed sadder than her tears, and sobbing 
out, “ Poor mamma,” he buried his face in her dress, cry- 
ing bitterly. Soothing another helped her to put her own 
grief out of sight, so she kissed away the tears and 
brushed aside the clouds that hid the sunshine from his 
little heart. 

Yet his pity had comforted her more than Owen’s tender 
words, for the child had felt her grief, whereas the man had 


6 4 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


already arisen from the annoyance to the hope of a future 
and greater success. 

Already he was impatient to be off, to be in action, to 
accomplish results ; while she grew faint and sick, with the 
hardest of woman’s hard portions — waiting. 

Still she must bear it. And she did so with quiet heroism, 
suffering in anticipation that she would suffer when she 
would be alone. Thus, with one full of plans, with the other 
full of pain, quickly the days flew by, until the terrible 
morning came, when Owen was to ride away from her who 
loved him. The driver was putting his horses to the old 
buggy, called in compliment the stage, and Owen stood at 
his door saying “ good-by ” to his wife. 

Her tender arms were around his neck, her lips pressed 
to his, but though her face was deadly pale, there were no 
tears in the brave eyes. 

“ Good-by, love,” he said. “ I will be back sooner than 
you think, and when I do come back it will be to success.” 

He was looking beyond the present. But to the wife, the 
present gulf seemed a tidal wave that washed away hope’s 
landmarks. 

The moments took to themselves wings and flew away. 
The stage was waiting at the foot of the trail, and of all the 
parting words her heart cried out she had only time to say : 

“ Good-by, good-by. God bless you, dearest. Keep 
well and come back to me.” 

She loosened the clasp of her loving arms, and he was 
gone. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“ FATHER AND DAUGHTER.” 

T HERE had been one truly sympathetic watcher of this 
parting — Kathrine Gordon. Pale, exhausted from 
constant attendance on her father, with the pressing need 
to provide their daily bread, and a growing despair of a 
chance to do the assessment work on her ledge, this young 
woman, whose life was utterly lonely and barren, had for- 
gotten all her trials, in pity for another. The proud eyes 
had lost their fire in tears, the scornful lips quivered in 
purest pity, as she stood a little back from the window that 
she might not seem to intrude on the grief of the fair young 
wife. 

She had forgotten the small cabin, the querulous sick 
man, her own hard cares. Her heart was full of that parting 
scene. 

Presently a peevish “ Kathrine, Kathrine,” called her away 
from the windows. 

“ What do you want, father ? ” 

Her voice was full and rich, with a sense of repressed 
power in it, as had every motion of the tall figure and every 
line of the expressive face. 

“ Want ? I want every thing. If you were not as selfish 
as you are cold-hearted, you’d do something to give me a 
few comforts in my old age.” 

“ Father, what more can I do ? Tell me. If it is possible 
I will do it.” 

There was not a trace of vexation in either face or voice, 


66 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


and no pretense of affection. It-was just the quiet, kind 
manner one would use to calm a cross child. 

The father and daughter were alike, yet strangely unlike. 
They had the same large dark eyes, straight nose and per- 
fectly formed lips. But, while his every feature betrayed 
weakness and irresolution, hers expressed strength and 
determination. About her mouth there was a look of scorn 
that somewhat marred its beauty, but her low, broad brow, 
shaded by hair blue in its midnight blackness, would have 
delighted a sculptor. 

Mr. Gordon looked thin and far from strong. Yet he 
had no signs of actual sickness. Standing at his bedside, 
waiting for an answer to her question, this fact seemed to 
impress his daughter. A slight frown contracted her brows, 
destroying for a moment their perfect arch. She opened 
her lips to speak, but at a second thought she closed them, 
while a gentler expression came over her face. 

Mr. Gordon glanced furtively at the face of his child, 
then quickly looked away. She seemed to him like some 
Egyptian sphinx ; she was so calm, so unmoved, by his 
endless fretting and complaining. 

She vexed him by her patience and her strength. She 
was his daughter, most unselfish, most true. Yet at times 
he feared her ; at times, almost hated her. If she would 
ever show anger or impatience, he would have felt more at 
ease with her, have liked her better. 

But to him she appeared to stand on some high pinnacle, 
from which she looked disdainfully down on man’s natural 
peccadillos. He resented this calm superiority; so while 
she provided his livelihood, he took thanklessly the fruits 
of her labors. 

He never knew how deeply his indifference wounded her. 
He never knew how often the hot flush of indignation 
would surge through her veins, or how she would quiver at 


“ FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


67 


some fresh stab of his petulance. He knew nothing of 
what she felt, and cared not to know. This moment, burn- 
ing with impatience, almost knowing what he was about to 
say, she stood calm as the sphinx to which her father in his 
thoughts compared her. She would not hasten by word or 
look what he wished, yet dared not utter. 

Again came that furtive side glance at the noble face, 
and again the uneasy shifting of his eyes. But she would 
not assist him. All her strength was needed for her self- 
command. She was preparing for a blow she felt was coming. 

The silence vexed him more than any words could do, 
and he burst out impatiently : “ There’s no need asking 
me that question. There you stand as cold as marble, and 
know well enough what you could do to give me comfort. 
You know where five hundred dollars are just waiting for 
you to pick up, and that a thousand more would be yours 
in six months.” 

She did not speak ; he thought he had made an impres- 
sion, and with another quick side glance, he went on : 

“ And Kath ” — he always called her thus when he was 
trying to please her — “ Alcorn swore to me, if I’d get your 
consent to sell the * Monster,’ he would settle one-sixth of 
the mine upon you. Now, that’s what I call handsome ; for, 
if there’s in it what you think, you’ll still be rich. And with 
the money — it’ll be cash, Kath, just think of it — I can buy 
a few comforts, that, at my age, become necessities. But I 
don’t believe there’s a darned thing in the whole camp. I 
think you should feel yourself very lucky to get the fifteen 
hundred.” 

She had not interrupted him, had not changed her posi- 
tion ; but her hands were more tightly clasped, the scornful 
lips more deeply scornful, and the dark eyes held a world of 
sadness in their liquid depths. She had noticed, as her 
father became more interested, how strong his voice was. 


68 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


His right hand, which for days he had been unable to move, 
was as quick and active in gesticulation as the left, and a 
suspicion that despite her inward battles, had been forcing 
itself upon her, became almost a certainty. Was it possible 
that her father was deceiving her ? Was it possible that 
his sickness was a fraud ? That he was conniving with 
Captain Alcorn to cheat her of her rights ? And was keep- 
ing her at his side to prevent her doing the assessment work, 
by which alone she held her claim ? Her claim, for which 
she had labored many years ! She grew faint and sick. 
Weakened by her long attendance on him, she would have 
fallen, but she put out her hand, grasped the bedstead — 
steadied herself. As she did not speak, Mr. Gordon turned 
and looked at her. She regained her composure, and to 
him appeared to be considering his proposition. 

“ Now, Kath, dear,” he took her unresponsive hand in 
his own nervous one ; “ you will do as I ask you. I have 
your interest nearest my heart ; and we do stand terribly in 
need of ready money. We could do a great deal with 
$1,500. And all the expense and labor of mining would be 
taken off ; you’d still have your one-sixth of the ‘ Monster.' 
I’ll see to that, I promise you, since you seem so fond of 
the old ledge, though to me it is a bugbear. Well, Kath, is 
it a bargain ? ” 

He drew her toward him with a strength marvelous in 
one who for days had been unable to hold a cup of tea. At 
each fresh exhibition of strength Kathrine’s heart beat with 
new indignation. She pressed her lips together that the 
angry words burning on her tongue might not escape and 
spring into life. She was betrayed ! But he was her 
father ! And her thoughts flew back to her mother’s death- 
bed. That beloved mother — her ideal woman ! 

She had clasped her hands in her dying ones, and had 
prayed the impetuous girl to be patient with her father. 


“ FATHER AND DAUGHTER . 


69 


“ He is not bad, does not intend to be unkind ; only he is 
infirm of purpose and easily influenced by those around 
him. Bear with him, my darling, for my sake. And should 
there come a day when your proud nature feels he has 
wronged you, forgive him, for the sake of your mother’s 
love.” 

She could see the gentle face with its lines of care this 
man’s neglect had made. She could hear the loving voice, 
as if those words echoing in her memory were that moment 
breathed on the air. The fire of her anger was quenched 
by tears for that mother, who, dying broken-hearted, plead, 
with her latest breath, for him who caused her death. 

“ For her sake,” Kathrine hushed the indignant beatings 
of her heart. 

“ For her sake,” until death, would she be gentle and kind 
to him. 

Kathrine Gordon was a woman of high principle. She 
was bound to this man, not only by that sacred promise to 
her mother, but by the fact that he was her father. To her, 
duty to a parent still remained a duty, no matter what that 
parent might be. So when her lips lost their compression 
and parted for speech, only gentle words came forth. 

“ Father, I do not wish to thwart or annoy you, but I 
will never part with the ‘ Monster ’ until I part with my 
life, or until I sell it to advantage. Think how quickly 
fifteen hundred dollars would be spent. How little it 
could accomplish. And this ledge, if ever we can get a 
partner with capital to develop it, will make us independently 
rich. It will be wealth for you as well as for me. The 
first of its proceeds shall be devoted to you, settled on you. 
It is not lack of duty to you that makes me hold fast to this 
property. I feel that through that ledge alone lies our 
escape from this bitter, degrading poverty, our road to a 
comfortable, useful life.” 


70 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Within her heart still reigned the memory of her mother’s 
dying words, and her voice was gentle, almost as that 
mother’s own. 

Forgetting his rheumatism, Mr. Gordon had turned in 
bed and was looking at her. At Kathrine with tear-filled 
eyes ! Kathrine with trembling lips and soft beseeching 
gesture ! 

What had so changed the girl from her usual calm 
demeanor ? that always awed, and generally subjugated 
him ? Perhaps, after all, she was not made of stone, and 
he could move her to his will ! He must. Had he not lost 
heavily to Alcorn ? And by the will of this magnate of the 
camp, was not the gaming table with its pleasures and 
excitements lost to him, unless Alcorn was satisfied ? 

“ My dear child,” he said, and, leaning out of bed, he 
drew her toward him, kissing her cheek. 

She did not at this moment notice how easily he moved 
and turned, she felt only this unusual tenderness. Years 
had passed since he had shown her the slightest affection ; 
so she had believed herself endured, solely for her usefulness, 
and had accepted the position without a word. Now her 
heart grew soft, she was thankful ! She had misjudged 
him ! He was not indifferent to her ! And she caught his 
hands, holding them in her own, as she felt the blessedness 
of affection. 

Thank God ! he had for her some of a father’s feeling. 
He regretted his coldness and neglect ; that kiss was a 
mute pleader for pardon of his treachery to her, and the 
tears that fell on her cheek washed out every bitter feeling. 

Never again would her life be so cold and hard. She 
would indeed be ever patient with his weakness. Her dear 
mother spoke in truth as well as love when she said : “ He 
is not bad, only irresolute.” Mindful of this, she would 
strive to show more affection for him. He was her father, 


“FATHER AND DAUGHTER." 


71 


and had been good to her when she was a little girl. Tri- 
fling acts of kindness came back to her, as she sat thus at 
his bedside, with her hands clasped in his. She could 
remember how once when crying her heart out over a 
broken doll, he had dried her tears with a new one. It 
seemed ages ago, yet it came back to her now. And she 
thanked him afresh for it, within the heart that held so few 
pleasant memories. She wished that she could make an 
attractive home for him. She glanced around the room, 
and shuddered at its barrenness. There were only the 
things that were absolutely needful, and how hard she had 
to work even for these ! 

She would put aside her foolish pride. She would go to 
Mr. Merilton the very day of his return, and offer him 
two-thirds of the “ Monster ” if he would develop it. He 
was honest, she was sure of it ; she had read his character 
in his face. And for the assessment work she had yet 
time. This was only the tenth ; there remained twenty- 
one days, and only twenty were required by law. Thank 
God ! there was some one in the world who cared for her. 
She would never feel again as if this life was a dreary desert. 
She was not utterly alone. 

These thoughts coursed through her brain during the 
few moments her father, not yet recovered from surprise, 
was seeking some way to reopen the subject. 

“ Dear Kathrine,” he said, as her head still softly drooped, 
the red lips trembled with emotion and her eyes were hid- 
den by downcast lids. “ Dear Kathrine, you will not, I 
know, refuse your old father the last favor he may ever 
ask of you. Let Alcorn have the ‘ Monster.’ ” 

The words had hardly passed his lips when the gentle 
expression vanished from the face of Kathrine Gordon. 
She drew her hand from his with quick, impatient gesture. 
The lips so soft and trembling, once more resumed their 


72 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


scornful curves, and the wonderful eyes, wide-opened and 
clear, were fixed upon him. Upon her white cheek, in flam- 
ing red, hung out the standard of her angry heart. But 
strong in every feeling, love for the dead mother was 
paramount ; and the scorn and anger advanced no further 
than her lips and eyes. 

“ Father, never ask me that again. I will hold to that 
ledge until I die. I will never give up any part of it, except 
to some one with capital, and some one I can trust. This 
is my answer once and for all. As for Captain Alcorn, I 
have never known any thing of him but treachery and 
deceit. I would not trust him under any circumstance. 
He is false to every principle of manhood. To-day I shall 
begin my assessment work. There is yet time for me to 
fulfill the law’s requirements.” 

Her figure was drawn to its full height. She seemed to 
dwarf all her surroundings, as she stood erect and beautiful, 
a daughter of whom a father might be justly proud. But 
there was no pride in Mr. Gordon’s eyes, as they rested on 
her — only a baffled, half-angry look. He knew she would 
keep her word, and begin work at once. He knew she no 
longer believed in his sickness. And though she had not 
uttered one reproach, he knew she despised him ; he felt 
that he had fallen still lower in her esteem. Yet he knew 
that she would not fail in the duty of a daughter. And 
for all this, he was angered against her, almost hated her. 

“ I will get breakfast. Will you take yours in bed, or 
dress for it ? ” She asked the question, as quietly as if there 
had been no deception practiced upon her, nor ten days of 
her life and strength used up with such wanton cruelty. 

“ I’ll get up,” he answered crossly, feeling himself a 
deeply wronged individual. Of such curious stuff is human 
nature ! 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ HARRY SAVES A FRIEND.” 

A N hour afterward, Mr. Merilton saw Miss Gordon in the 
dress Harry called her “ mining overalls” walk hastily 
to the stable, take out her horse, water it, and then put- 
ting her foot in the stirrup, mount lightly on his back. 
She bowed her head as she saw Mrs. Merilton’s face in 
the window, and nodded and kissed her hand in answer to 
Harry’s shout : “ Going to the mine, Kath ? ” and then 
started off on a quick trot down the road until she disap- 
peared over the mountain top. She came in sight once more, 
as the trail crossed the second mountain, and then disap- 
peared. Shortly afterward Mr. Gordon, walking quite as 
well as ever, came out of the cabin and went down toward 
the saloon. 

“ Em,” Mrs. Merilton called : and Em ran quickly, 
reaching the window in time to catch a glimpse of the 
tall, thin figure of the old man. He was, as always, neatly 
dressed, and walked quite as quickly as Em had ever seen him 
do. “ De ole villen. He’s jest been a-foolin’ dat pore 
young lady all dis time. Oh ! Miss ’Liza, I’se so feared she 
won’t get frough dat 'sessment work.” 

It was also Eliza’s fear. In all her own pain at Owen’s 
departure, she had not forgotten her anxiety for Miss Gor- 
don. Yet she could not offer assistance to one whose pride 
might make her decline it. But, watching her ride over the 
hills, bravely starting to work, all tired out as she must 
be with ten days attendance on an exacting invalid, she 


74 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


determined she would help her in spite of herself. Owen 
had been forced to take most of their money away with him. 
He had, however, left enough to supply her little family for 
six months. This she could not touch. But the last mail 
had brought a letter from William, inclosing a hundred dol- 
lars for Harry. It was his customary birthday gift to each 
of the children. 

“ Give this to Harry with my love," he wrote, “ and my 
congratulations on his sixth birthday. Tell him for me 
that small as is the amount, I hope it will help him to some 
deed of kindness." 

She would use this for Kathrine Gordon’s assessment 
work. 

Calling Harry to her, she said : “ Harry, in ten days you 
will be six years old. I have received from your uncle Will 
a hundred dollars, which he sends you with his love. 
Mamma intended to put it in the bank with the other money 
he has given you. But I know a kindness a friend of yours 
needs. Would you not rather use the money for that 
friend ? " 

“ Who is my friend, and what is the kindness, mamma ? " 

In all her gravity Eliza smiled at her boy’s astuteness. 
He was a remarkably intelligent child, with thoughts and 
words belonging to a more mature age. If his precocity 
had not been accompanied by robust health and high 
spirits, it would have seemed an abnormal development. 
His given word was sacred as a man’s, and in him, once cau- 
tioned to silence, his mother could freely confide. So she 
put her arm around him and said, earnestly : 

“ Harry, I am about to tell you a secret. You must 
promise never to tell it unless mamma says you may. Will 
you promise ? " 

“ Yes, mamma ; what is it ? " 

“ Darling, the friend who needs a kindness is Miss Gor- 


“HARRY SAVES A FRIEND. 


75 


don. And the way I would like to use this money is in 
having Si do her assessment work on the * Monster.’ Em 
thinks some people intend jumping it. Now we must not 
offer this kindness to Miss Gordon. She might refuse it. 
Si can do the work at night and she’ll never know it, unless 
some one would be so cruel as to try to get her property. 
Then Si can come forward with a copy of the record, and 
my Harry will have saved a friend.” 

“ Mamma, darling mamma, I’m so glad to do it.” And 
the generous boy in his delight hugged and kissed his mother 
until he brought the roses to her pale cheeks, and pulled 
her soft brown hair down about her shoulders. 

Si was sent for, and first binding him to secrecy, Mrs. 
Merilton told him her anxiety lest by some chance Miss 
Gordon’s ledge be jeopardized. 

“ Now, Si, Harry and I have decided we will protect the 
rights of this young lady. You must do the work, have it 
recorded, and keep it entirely from Miss Gordon’s knowl- 
edge. She need never know it, unless some one should 
attempt to rob her.” 

Big Si was sitting on the edge of a chair deep in thought. 
His forehead was drawn up in wrinkles, and he was scratch- 
ing his head in an endeavor to hasten his ideas. At the 
moment he was wishing for Bob with all his heart. “ Bob 
would ha’ knowed at once how to answer the purty lady ; 
Bob’s so quick,” he muttered to himself as he sat pondering. 
Eliza waited a moment or two, then tried to assist his 
thoughts with a gentle, “ Do you think you can manage 
this ? ” and Si’s face began to brighten. At last the longed 
for idea had dawned. 

“ Bless yer, missus, I jes’ can. There’s a shaft on the 
1 Monster’ mine that, two years ago, when she raised a little 
money, she had sunk twenty-five feet. I was one o’ the 
men that worked it fer her, Bob an’ me. An’ she had 


76 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


a nice ladder. I remember it well. Bob an' me made that 
ladder. When the job was done an’ us paid, she was 
smilin’ bright as the mornin’, an’ she sed: ‘ Now, Si, my 
money’s all gone ; but I ken go down to the bottom on 
the ladder and do assessment work next year unkiviring 
the ledge.’ Poor lady ! when the summer was over and she 
went to her ledge, some thief as had no soul, had jest stole 
her ladder. So she did assessment work on the first level. 
Good work too, and a good ledge. But it was an orful dis- 
appointment to her. Bob an’ me alius meant ter rig out 
another ladder. But we ken easily swing down with a rope. 
We’ll have ter fix up suthin to hand up the dirt, and take 
it away in the mornin’ afore she gits thar. We’ll jest sink 
as many feet as we can in the time, an’ help the gal a-devel- 
opin’ her claim. As we cabins up gulch, we ken git off arter 
dark, and none o’ the fellows be any wiser. Bless yer 
sweet eyes, missus, won’t thar be a laugh on any rascal as 
hopes ter jump Miss Kathrine’s ledge ! ” And Si began 
to shake with laughter at the bare thought. He put up his 
hand to hide his mouth and quiet the great ha#ha, but the 
laugh would come. And as he saw Mrs. Merilton smiling 
in sympathy with his amusement, he gave vent to a roar of 
merriment that almost made the pots and pans clatter in 
the kitchen. 

“ Lor’ bress dat man,” said Em, laughing as she heard 
him. “ He jus’ larfs like a bull a-roarin’.” 


CHAPTER X. 


“kath says ‘yes’.” 

I T was the 20th of December. Owen had been gone ten 
days — ages they seemed to Eliza, until two loving little 
notes had winged their way to her, from him. Two notes 
of comfort. 

The weather had again become mild and delightful. Ex- 
cept on the northern side of the mountains, the snow had 
entirely disappeared ; and the sunlight, covering the earth 
with its warm glow, made winter seem a thing of the past. 

Harry kept wishing for snow, but thoroughly enjoyed his 
scampers over the rocks with the two dogs at his heels. 
They had adopted him for master, never leaving him even 
at meals, where, one on each side, they quietly waited for 
their shares, and when, at Mrs. Merilton’s suggestion, Em 
had asked Miss Gordon if she objected to their staying so 
much “ wid our Harry,” Miss Gordon, who at the moment 
was just mounting her horse to go to the mine, had answered : 

“ Harry can have them. But if he grows tired of them, 
let him send them back to us. We won’t give them to 
strangers, will we, Nell ? ” she said to the large setter that 
followed her. As if understanding her words, the pretty 
creature wagged her tail and tried to jump high as her mis- 
tress’s face. In all her rides or walks, this dog was with 
her, and was almost human in her affection and intelligence. 
She seemed her mistress’s trusted friend. And now was 
springing on ahead as Miss Gordon stopped for a moment 
to send a message to Mrs. Merilton. 


78 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


“ I am anxious to call upon your mistress, but just now it 
is impossible. Will you say for me, Em, that I must accom- 
plish a certain amount of work before the first day of the year, 
and so am forced to postpone my visit to her ? ” 

Then smiling, she had galloped away. But the smile soon 
died out, leaving her face pale and careworn. The days 
went on, the long, dreary days, until this, the twentieth, 
Harry’s birthday, broke in sunshine and gladness for one 
little man who had not lived long enough to be weary of 
his life. 

Baby Hannah was now trotting about, and had become a 
willful baby runaway. It was her delight, if by chance she 
saw the door open, to toddle out, laughing with all her little 
heart, and scrambling over the rocks, to run as fast and as 
far as her short legs would carry her. It was wonderful 
how far she could go in a few moments. Many times both 
her mother and Em would start off, in a terrible fright, with 
beating hearts, to seek the little truant — only to find her, 
like a snowy flower, hiding by a rock and clapping her tiny 
hands with glee. Then she would be caught up in loving 
arms, and petted, and kissed, until the young lady felt herself 
a heroine. She was a sunbeam in the house, with her win- 
some ways, and flower-like face. They all loved her, all 
bowed down in obedience to her sweet nature and charm- 
ing despotism. 

And to-day, Harry’s birthday, all arrayed in white and 
blue, she looked a perfect fairy as she dipped her rose-tipped 
fingers into Em’s most sacred dishes, while the woman 
looked and exclaimed : “ Lor’ bress de chile ! She am so 

wise, she jest knows de best tings.” 

It was a glorious day, and Em was preparing a feast for 
“ our Harry.” Mrs. Merilton had proposed inviting to his 
dinner some of the children in the camp, but Harry had 
answered very emphatically : “ No, mamma, I don’t want 


79 


“ KA TH SA YS ‘ YES 

any of them. The only girl I care for in the whole camp is 
Kath. I wish she would come,” he had said on the eve of 
his birthday. 

“ Well, darling, I will write and invite her. And you can 
take the note over when she comes from work. Perhaps 
you may coax her to come.” So on the eve of his birthday, 
Harry, with the note in his hand, had stood at his door 
watching for his friend. As soon as she appeared on the top 
of the ridge, he ran down the trail, and was waiting at the 
stable door for her. And long before she was near enough 
to answer, he began shouting : “ Kath, dear Kath, say 

yes ! ” 

Dismounting, she stooped and kissed the boy’s bright 
face. “ Here’s a note from mamma, but say * yes ’ first.” 
And he held fast to the envelope, looking up so earnestly 
that she answered : “ If I can, dear child, I promise you.” 

When she had read it through she glanced up, and saw 
Eliza at the open door, smiling at her. A sweet supple- 
ment to the kind, graceful little note of invitation, most 
welcome at that moment. Kathrine had just come from a 
lonely day’s work. The rock had been hard, and she was 
discouraged by the little progress she had made, the result 
of so much pain and fatigue. As she turned her face home- 
ward her sadness deepened. Whom had she to bid her 
welcome ? Except the dog that ran at her side, where was 
the living thing to whom her life or death was of the 
slightest moment ? Only as she ministered to their comfort, 
who cared f6r her ? These thoughts were upon her in all 
their cruel truth, when she saw the rosy-faced boy waiting 
for her. After all, some one did think of her ! She stooped, 
kissed his cheek, and thanked God for even so small a 
share of affection as the passing fancy of a child. 

“ Kath, you will say yes, and come to-morrow? It is my 
birthday,” pleaded the little fellow, after the note was 


8o 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


read. She smiled the desired “ yes,” and then began to 
anticipate a pleasure. While she went about her house- 
hold duties, Kathrine was thinking of the morrow. It had 
been so long since she had tasted pleasure, or exchanged a 
word with a woman of education ; one with whom she 
could feel the possibility of friendship as with this sweet 
young mother whom, herself unseen, she had so often 
watched. Having accepted the invitation, Kathrine wel- 
comed as joyously as Harry the bright sunbeams that came 
stealing over the mountains, and started off to work rather 
earlier thau usual, that she might return the sooner. The 
air was exhilarating. The skies and mountains never 
looked so beautiful ; perhaps it was because Kathrine felt 
a brightening of her daily life. She had told her father of 
her invitation, and he had answered : “ All right ; I’ll 
dine with the boys.” So she had. the cabin all to herself. 
She glanced up at the Meriltons’ house as she came from the 
stable. The door was closed and there was no one at the 
windows. 

“ Making ready for the feast,” she said to herself with a 
smile, and then went into the cabin to seek in her scanty 
wardrobe something a little less plain than her ordinary 
dress. 


CHAPTER XI. 


“ BLOSSOMING INTO FLOWER.” 

I N the Meriltons’ dwelling there was great excitement. 

Em was in her glory. The tables were covered with 
all sorts of good things she was preparing in honor of “ our 
Harry.” As she had told him, she was “ gwine to git him 
up a dinner, dat nowhar could he git no better,” and then 
had added to “ Miss 'Liza” that she was “gwine to keep 
the promise, ef she’d bust.” 

Harry, proud and happy, dressed in his best, walked 
through the house, the hero of the hour, and little Hannah, 
after trying all Em’s dishes on her dainty finger tips, was 
asking them each by turns : 

“ Ain't me pitty ? ” Shaking her little brown head to see 
“ de turls dance,” as she stood on tiptoe at her mother’s 
dressing-table, and peeped at the lovely reflection of her 
own baby face. They had all been so absorbed in prep- 
aration, that no one had seen Miss Gordon’s return. 

But Harry had not forgotten her ; he had asked a dozen 
I times if it wasn’t time for her to come. 

“ Lor’ bress you, Mars Harry, ’tain’t no use a-hurryin’. 
De sun don’t min’ a bit, an’ jest takes his own time,” said 
Em, hurrying as much as she could. At last every thing 
was ready ; even the garland of cedars ; for Eliza, despite 
her own sadness at Owen’s absence, thought of every thing 
that could add to her boy’s pleasure, and make his birthday 
a bright memory in his life. 

She had just gone to her room to change her dress in 


82 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


honor of the occasion, when, hearing a clatter like the 
rattling of a heavy vehicle running with great rapidity, she 
looked out of the window. Up the road, dashing madly 
along, was a large wagon. One of the neighboring ranch- 
men was coming to town, and the horses were evidently 
running away. 

She started to call Em, when to her surprise she found 
the front door open. A horrible fear came over her, 
clutching at her heart, and stopping her breath. Calling 
out wildly : “ Em, Em, is baby with you ? ” she did not 
wait the reply : “ No, ma’am ; she’s jest gone to you,” but 
rushed to the open door. 

Startled by her mistress’s yoice, Em ran from the kitchen, 
her hands white with flour. With a shawl over her shoulders, 
staggering as the loose stones rolled under her feet, Eliza 
was running down the mountain as fast as she could go ; 
for, sitting in the road, with her sweet baby face turned to 
her mother, and the sweet baby voice calling out, “ Here 
me, mamma ! ” was little Hannah ! 

While, rushing upon the child, with the heavy wagon 
swinging from side to side, and the driver powerless to hold 
them, was a pair of powerful gray horses. 

“ Lord, Lord, hab mercy on us, and sabe de chile ! ” Em 
cried out from her terror-stricken 'heart, and then ran 
wildly down the mountain after Eliza. It was impossible ! 
They could not reach the baby and the horses’ hoofs were 
almost upon her. 

The mother raised her arms and shrieked in her agony. 
The baby, with her back to the horrible death so swiftly 
approaching, still smiled, still lisped, “ Here me, mamma, 
here me.” 

“ Save her, oh, God ! ” shrieked Eliza, tottering, rather 
than running. 


“ BLOSSOMING INTO FLOWER 83 

The mountains seemed to swim around her ; a vision of 
blood danced before her eyes. 

A moment more and her child would be crushed ! But 
some one else had seen the baby’s danger. 

Kathrine Gordon, her loose hair streaming on the wind, 
leaped like a deer across the short space from her door to 
the road. With one hand striking the nearest horse a blow 
that made him rear, with the other she lifted the baby to 
her breast. And the wagon dashed on, carrying a tong 
lock of Kathrine’s black hair and a shred of her skirt wav- 
ing from the wheel. 

In a moment more Eliza was pressing her child to her 
bosom, and Em, crying and laughing, was kissing the little 
white hand that caught her finger with its baby clasp. 
Holding her baby with passionate tenderness and still 
trembling, Eliza put an arm around Kathrine and kissed 
her. 

“ You have made me your debtor for life,” she said. 

It was the first time since her mother’s death that tender 
lips had pressed Kathrine’s. 

As they stood, bound together by a moment in which each 
had lived an age, their friendship sprang into life. Harry, 
running down the trail with the dogs closely following, was 
amazed to see them. 

“ Why, mamma ! Why, Kath ! What’s the matter ? ” 
And then he turned to Em, whose face, still wet with tears, 
was widened into the broadest of smiles. 

“ Bless yer soul, Mars Harry, baby Hannah’s jest ’scaped 
bein’ killed, and Miss Kathrine saved her. An’ we’re all 
so happy we ain’t sure ef we’s standin’ on our heads or on 
our heels.” 

“ Dear Kath ! ” and Harry’s arms were around her. 

She was to be no more lonely Kathrine. The desert of 
her life was blossoming into flower. 


8 4 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ Why, mamma, see, there’s blood on Kath’s gown,” and 
Harry pointed to a dark red spot. 

Eliza begged to be allowed to see the hand, which she 
now noticed that Kathrine was concealing. 

But she would not uncover it. 

“ It was only a scratch where she had struck the horse,” 
she said, and she had mined so long, she knew how to cure 
such trifles. Then added : “ If you will allow me, I will 
finish my very simple toilet and come to you.” 

So, with a close clasp of the hands, Eliza and Kathrine 
hastened to make ready for the feast Em had prepared with 
so much care. 

Harry ran down to meet Kathrine as she came out of 
the cabin, and Eliza stood on the doorstep waiting to wel- 
come her. The woman who for years had hidden a most 
sensitive nature beneath a mask of proud indifference, in 
this sympathetic atmosphere expanded like a flower in the 
sunshine. The dark eyes grew soft, and smiles replaced 
the scornful expression of the beautiful lips. So the dinner 
was a feast in every sense. 

In the hearts of all, underlying each thought, was a deep 
thankfulness that the baby had been saved from a terrible 
fate. She was in her chair at her mother’s side, rapping 
the table with her chicken-bone, then putting it to her rosy 
lips, and raising her voice now and then to proclaim herself 
“ Mamma’s pitty baby.” 

Harry, with flushed face and mannish ways, was doing 
the honors, and Em, “ spruced up,” as she called it, in the 
intervals of serving, settled herself in a corner of the 
room where she could “ ’joy the conbersation.” She was a 
privileged member of the family, held as friend as well as 
faithful servant, and enjoyed her privileges to the full. 

After dinner, Harry leaned on Kathrine’s knees, and 
looked up in her face as she told him stories, while Em, on 


“ BLOSSOMING INTO FLOWER. 


85 


the floor at her feet, listened in rapt attention. Eliza, with 
her sleeping baby in her arms, was also listening to the low, 
rich voice, and watching the face of Kathrine. She was 
wondering at the freak of fate which had cast the life of this 
woman, so beautiful and gifted, in this forlorn corner of 
the world — wondering that some knight did not come to 
woo this fair, proud lady, and lift from her the toilsome 
burden of her life. 

All too soon the clock told Kathrine that the evening was 
growing very late for little folk ; so with a “ good-night” 
she went out of the light of this home into the cold dark- 
ness of her own. But she had promised to come when the 
New Year opened. 

“ I must work hard until then to fulfill the law or my claim 
may be jumped. I hardly think the meanest man in the 
camp would jump it, but I dare not put it in their power. 
I don't care to place myself where there is a chance for 
further revelations of the bad side of human nature,” she 
said. 

And a scornful shadow passed over the proud face, which 
vanished at the sadness in Eliza’s eyes. This woman, born 
for tenderness and love, should not see through her experi- 
ences the bitterness of life. Harry begged to “ see Kath 
home,” and Eliza kept the door open to light the rocky 
way. 

“ So she’s brightening my hard, stony life,” Kathrine 
thought; Eliza’s softly murmured, “ God bless you,” linger- 
ing with her as a talisman. 


CHAPTER XII. 


“ miss Gordon’s assessment work.” 

E LIZA’S tidings from Owen were so full of hope that the 
soft eyes lost something of their wistfulness. 

“ He will soon come back,” she said to her boy. She 
had sung it to her baby in a thousand pretty melodies, and 
woven it into the duties of her life, where, glimmering like 
sunshine, it lighted what had been dark. 

The other owners of the mine and mill had agreed to all 
Owen’s propositions. The company was to be incorporated 
and they would give one-half of their share to be sold for 
working capital ; he would do the same. Owen was to 
raise the money and attend to all sales, in consideration of 
which he was to be manager for two years, but without 
extra salary. After the two years they would elect all offi- 
cers in the customary manner. 

There had been no ready market in San Francisco, so 
Owen had determined to go to New York and enlist Mr. 
Howell’s influence, as he had received from him encourag- 
ing letters on the subject. 

“ And even as you read this, love, I am on the way. I 
shall find it hard, when the train passes Palisade, not to 
stop and run down to you. But I can not delay, for there 
has been a day appointed for me to meet some capitalists 
in New York. Mr. Howell has arranged matters ; has 
subscribed ten thousand dollars, and feels quite sure of 
about fifteen old business acquaintances who are willing to 
subscribe five thousand each. As I intend to raise only one 


“ MISS GORDON'S ASSESSMENT WORK." 87 

hundred thousand dollars I will not be long away. Still, 
fearing something may occur to detain me, I have written 
to my lawyers to postpone the trial about that wood, and 
have had an answer from them saying it is ‘ all right.’ So 
you need not worry over the matter. As far as the money 
goes, it is only a trifle ; but the wrong of the thing is what 
angers me. Now, love, write me a cheerful letter, for I 
believe I can safely promise to be with you in a month. 
1 shall count the days. Will you ? I forgot to mention 
that our lawyers, Rig and Childs, are considered the very 
first in Eureka. They are high-priced — but we don’t want 
our affairs muddled. While in Eureka I met a man who 
knows all about that wood, and he has found three good 
witnesses for us. One takes affidavit that after Captain 
Alcorn swore he sold me the wood, he went to him and 
asked his assistance to sell it to me ; another, that a great 
deal was sold from the wood, which is not within twenty 
cords as much as claimed. So we have a clear case. The 
attachment notice will soon be off the mill, and before the 
fall, when the case comes off, I shall be with you, the mill 
will be pounding away, and Cetewayo rushing to the front 
rank of successful mining camps.” 

The very day he brought this message to Eliza, Si hurried 
back, after he had gone down to the camp. She saw him 
striding like a giant up to her house. 

“ What is it, Si ? ” she asked, as she opened the door for 
him. 

“ Wal, missus, I jest come back ter tell yer the 'tachment 
notice has been taken down. An’ Cap don’t hold his head 
quite so high as when that blasted bit o’ paper was a-stickin’ 
up thar, an’ tellin’ its lies every minit in the day.” 

Eliza clasped her hands in thankfulness. That cruel 
false witness, proclaiming a debt her husband never owed, 
had been a thorn in her tender heart. And Si, who deeply 


88 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


resented Owen’s wrongs, seemed to grow an inch or two 
taller in his pleasure. He was wiping his head with a dingy 
handkerchief, nearly as large as himself, and, as usual, was 
sitting on the edge of a chair. He seemed to feel it a token 
of respect to Eliza to be uncomfortable. 

It was in vain she tried to make him take a comfortable 
seat. He always chose the smallest chairs, and seemed to 
think every thing about the “ missus ” was too delicate for 
ordinary use. “Yer an’t asked me nuthin’ about how 
we’re gettin’ on with the ‘ Monster,’ ” he said, after a 
moment. 

“ I forgot it in my own happiness, at Mr. Merilton’s 
approaching return,” she answered, apologetically. “ How 
does it look ? ” 

“ It’s a fortin’. If only the poor lass had some one to 
start the work, have a road built, an’ get a month’s run, I 
guess I’m purty safe in sayin’ it ’ud never need a cent’s 
more expense than it ’ud pay for. It’ll take a good many 
thousands, but him as does it’ll find hisself well paid. 
Mister Owen’ll hev ter make a bargain with Miss Kath, and 
jest undertake that ledge, too. It’s a big thing. She’s not 
a hard one, poor little gal. She’s mighty good ter all she 
dars trust.” 

“ Do you think she suspects any one is working in the 
mine?” asked Mrs. Merilton. 

“ Lor’ bless your pretty eyes, no, ma’am. She’s jest as 
innercent as your baby, and jest goes on a-pickin’ an’ 
a-pickin’, as ef her ledge was a-hangin’ on her work. I guess 
she’s hurt herself. For as I alius looks at her work ter see 
how she’s a-gettin’ on, I seed her minin’ glove for the right 
han’ was considerable bloody. I jes’ glories in that gal’s 
pluck. She’d go on workin’ ef the hand was ter fall off. 
She’s a plucky one ! ” 

Eliza felt a pang as she heard this. It was her right 


“MISS GORDON'S ASSESSMENT IVOR NT 89 


hand with which she struck the horse when she rescued 
the baby. It was this hand she persistently refused to 
show to Eliza. She had turned aside her anxiety with a 
laugh and said, “We miners are used to scratches.” And 
now she was using that hand for hard work ! 

“ Had we not better tell Miss Gordon the work will be 
done, so she need not exhaust herself ? ” 

Si scratched his head, wrinkled his forehead, mopped it 
once or twice, wished for Bob, and finally came to a con- 
clusion. 

“ I thinks as how yer’d better jest let her alone. She has 
only got seven days more to work. Ef she don’t feel no 
obligation she’d be happier. But ef she thinks she owes her 
mine to your care, she’d jest make you take part of it. 
’Sides, they is all a-bettin’ down town as how Miss Gordon’ll 
lose her claim this year. The darn sneaks ! Thar ain’t a 
man among ’em but she’s done ’em a kindness. An’ they 
are jest a-gettin’ ready ter larf when she loses her ledge, 
what she’s worked fer, an’ hard too. Darn ’em ! ” Si was 
so excited he forgot to ask “ missus’ ” pardon for his little 
flower of speech, and she was so thoroughly in sympathy 
with the matter of his speech that she did not object to its 
manner. 

“ Now, missus, we’ll jest have the laugh on ’em, the 
thieves ! ” 

“ How about the recorder ? Will he keep it secret ? ” 

“Yes, missus, he’s an honest man. Wal,” and he rose ; 
“ I guess I’ll go. But afore I do, I’se jest brought suthin 
for the children.” 

He went outside for a huge bundle which, as she saw 
him coming up the trail, Eliza had supposed contained min- 
ing materials. 

“ A horse for Harry,” he said, unrolling from its'wrap- 
ping such a marvelous image of a horse that Eliza could 


90 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


hardly repress a smile. It looked so like a huge pig, and 
she had been on the point of admiring it as such. But her 
amusement was not as strong as her gratitude to the kind- 
hearted old man, who had devoted his leisure moments to 
devising something for her children’s pleasure. She said 
gently, “ Thank you, Si, for your goodness to the children ; ” 
and in her stronger feeling the amusement was lost. “ Did 
you make it ? ” she added, as Si still looked down admi- 
ringly on the curious model. 

“ No, no, missus ; I ain’t no good at sech fine things. 
Bob did it, an’ a fine job he made of it. Bob’s orful 
clever.” There was such genuine admiration in tone and 
look, it lent a charm to the remarkable figure of the horse. 
Then with a sigh of intense satisfaction Si turned from 
Bob’s masterpiece to the smaller parcel. It was a wheel- 
barrow, quite as wonderful, in its way, as the horse. He 
presented it with “ I made this fer the little gal. It ain’t 
near as good as Bob’s work. But Bob allers was a bright 
’un. Give ’em to the little fellers and a merry Christmas 
to ’em.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


il CHRISTMAS IN THE MOUNTAINS.” 

C HRISTMAS morning broke in sunshine and brightness. 

Eliza’s first Christmas without Owen ! One landmark 
of her life on which was written loneliness ! 

Yet she had smiles for her children, and merry answers 
to their merry greetings. “Owen will soon be here,” her 
heart kept repeating as its cheer. The little folks were up 
betimes, exploring the delightful secrets of their stockings 
and gazing with joy at the beauties of their tree. 

It stood in the little dining-room with its garlands of 
Christmas greens hung round the walls. Eliza, Kathrine 
and Em had combined their ingenuity in its arrangement. 
With its bunches of roses, robbed from Eliza’s hats, its 
snowy strings of pop-corn, and the queer little Indian fig- 
ures Kathrine had fashioned out of pine nuts, the tree need 
not have been ashamed to stand near its more costly kin- 
dred in the distant cities. 

The Indians, who on Harry’s invitation came in to admire 
the tree, clapped their hands with delight at these excellent 
imitations of themselves. 

The pine nut is one of Nevada’s few products. It is an 
appetizing little nut, and is held in great favor by the whites, 
who buy quantities from the Indians. T o the Indians it forms 
the reserve stock for their winter’s store. They bury them in 
the ground, and when the food they get from the whites be- 
comes scarce, they unearth these treasures. By pounding on 


92 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


rocks they reduce them to a species of flour, out of which 
they make bread. 

To see the nuts, fashioned after them and in their own 
costumes, dangling from a tree, amused and pleased the 
Indians. Kathrine had hurried up to see the children’s 
pleasure, and Eliza asked her to join them at breakfast. 

But she declined, saying : “ Thanks. But I think my 
duty is to my father this morning.” The two women were 
standing at the open door, while gently creeping down the 
canyon the sunlight was kissing every stone and bush into 
brightness. Even the sky seemed warmer because of the 
joyous day, as Kathrine was wishing it were right for her 
to have taken the morning meal with her friend. She, who 
had lived a life among rocks and stones, felt a Christmas 
gladness stealing over her heart, and longing for the bread 
of life — love. But for her there was no compromise with 
duty. Eliza noticed that her right hand had a bandage 
about it. Taking it in her own, she said : 

“ This wound was for me and mine. Dear Kathrine, I 
implore you, let me see to the remaining work in your mine, 
and let this hand rest. Remember how deeply I am your 
debtor.” 

Kathrine put her arm around the slender figure that even 
in these few weeks of Owen’s absence had lost something 
of its roundness. 

“ Friend,” she said, “ I have so few friends ; let me feel I 
have some slight claim on your love. Don’t repay me for 
an act that has given me the first happiness I have known 
since my mother’s death.” And as she spoke there was a 
sob in her low, rich voice. Partly to change the subject, 
and partly because she knew Eliza felt an interest in the 
girl, she said after a moment : “ I met Eleanor Stuart yes- 

terday. Eleanor Hill,” she explained, as Eliza looked up 
doubtfully at the unfamiliar married name of the girl 


“ CHRIS T MA S IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


93 


who had so attracted her when she first came to the 
camp. “ As I rode from the mine she was walking down the 
gulch with one of her little sisters. Her husband’s cabin is 
far up the gulch, and since her marriage she has kept away 
from the camp. The cruel remarks made about her have, I 
believe, had a great effect on her. When she saw me riding 
toward her she blushed and half turned as if to run away. 
But when I sprang from my horse and, holding out my hand, 
said, * Nellie, why haven’t you been to see me ? You have 
more leisure now you are married, and Mrs. Merilton has 
been asking for you,’ her blush changed to one of pleasure 
and the tears that filled her eyes were grateful tears. ‘ Has 
she been asking for me ? Bless her kind heart.’ Then her 
face grew very red again as she said : ‘ I was ashamed to 

see her, Miss Gordon. I was not made strong like you. I 
did wrong, I know, but I loved Eddy so. I never went 
with any other young fellow ; and I don’t think he meant 
to wrong me by putting off our marriage so long. I be- 
lieve he’d married me, without father’s fighting him. But 
I’ve been ashamed ever since to see you. And Mrs. Meril- 
ton ! Every sweet word she said to me lives in my heart. 
Then she looked up smiling. * Miss Gordon, Eddy’s giv’ 
up drinking. He says he isn’t going to drink any more, he’s 
so happy with me.’ When I turned to go she caught my 
hand and whispered : ‘ Do you think my sin will be for- 

given ? Do you think it will be visited on my innocent 
child ? I have heard it said that God will forgive if we are 
sorry ; I am so very sorry. God could not pardon me, and 
injure my child.’ She was so thoroughly in earnest that I 
was deeply moved. Her simple confession had exalted the 
girl in my esteem. I felt like raising her hand to my lips. 
‘ Eleanor,’ I said, ‘ Mrs. Merilton can tell you more of re- 
ligion than I. But I don’t believe God will ever punish 
your child for your misfortune. And I do believe He has 


94 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


forgiven you.’ She seemed comforted, and I hated myself 
for not knowing more of the tenets of faith, so I told 
her you would go to see her some day, and teach her your 
faith.” 

“ Not some day,” answered Eliza. “ I will go this very 
day.” 

“ Where, mamma ? ” asked Harry, coming up to her. 

“ Where, mamma ? ” echoed baby, not because she had 
any thought on the subject, but just because Harry said it. 

“ Up the gulch for a walk.” 

“ Oh ! won’t that be jolly ! ” shouted Harry. 

“Jolly,” lisped baby. 

Kathrine, running down the mountain trail, turned for 
a last look at the pretty group of Eliza and her children, 
and with the smile still on her face, opened the cabin door. 

Her father was sitting before the fire reading a news- 
paper, and looking very comfortable. She went up to 
him softly, and touching his forehead with her sweet smil- 
ing lips, said : 

** Merry Christmas to you, father.” 

He brushed the kiss off with the back of his hand, 
and without looking up from his paper, replied in a petulant 
manner : 

“ Merry Christmas ! I’d like to know what I have 
to be merry for ? Or you either, for that matter. Two 
paupers, and likely to remain so, for all your fine friends 
up the hill. Fine friends ! ” he added with a sneer. 
“ Very fine friends ! The husband goes off after cheat- 
ing poor Cap, deserts his wife, and hides from his cred- 
itors.” 

Kathrine’s face was scarlet and her eyes bright with 
anger. Battle against it as she would, her father’s taunts 
and sneers were to her as lighted match to powder. He 
always knew how to say the meanest, crudest things. Per- 


CHRISTMAS IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


95 


haps he had been reading what she had seen the previous 
evening — “ The Absconding Debtor Merilton.” She had 
thrown the paper from her in disgust, calling out to her 
silent cabin, “ Lies, lies that will wound a tender heart.” 
Mr. Merilton was away, engrossed in business ; but she, 
the loving wife, must be stabbed by every word of this wit- 
ness, whose false testimony was scattered broadcast. And 
now to feel that he, her father, should be one of the first to 
take up this mud and try to besmirch an honest name ! It 
was almost more than she could bear. Her blood went 
seething in an angry torrent through her veins, bitter words 
came to her ready tongue. But she pressed her teeth upon 
it to keep it silent. On this morning of all others she would 
not break the promise to her mother. As this mother’s 
face came before her, her tender conscience suffered for the 
duty she could fulfill only in seeming, and sadness put out 
the angry fire of her dark eyes. 

Receiving no answer, Mr. Gordon went on : “ Silent, of 

course. To your father you’ve no word to say. It is a pity 
your mother you seem so fond of did not bring you up 
differently,” he sneered. 

“ Father !” Kathrine’s voice was so husky, so unlike her 
own, that Mr. Gordon dropped his paper to look at her. 
For once he was gratified ; he say her enraged. 

She was trembling with suppressed passion, her eyes 
seemed to emit fire. The perfectly arched brows were 
drawn together in a heavy frown, and her face paled to 
marble white. One hand was raised warningly, while the 
other, clinched tight, was pressed against her heart. 

Looking at her, with the cold sneer still upon his face, 
Mr. Gordon for the first time saw her beauty. “ She’s 
devilish handsome,” he thought ; and he waited with rather 
pleasant anticipations, for some words to match that angry 
face. 


9 6 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


With the white teeth pressed into the tongue until she 
tasted blood, she stood struggling for self-command. To 
listen while this man sneered at her mother, whose life had 
been one long sacrifice to him, was more than human 
nature could bear. Yet that mother’s last injunction was 
“ patience and forbearance.” So the frown passed from 
her face, carrying all passion with it. The tall figure lost 
its rigidity. With a disappointed “ Bah ! ” Mr. Gordon 
resumed his paper. 

“ Father ; ” Kathrine’s voice was calm as ever ; “ how 
can you speak in dispraise of my mother, who so loved you, 
and gave up her whole life to you ? My faults are my own. 
To her I owe whatever good there may be found in me. 
Could she have molded me, I would have been perfection.” 

Perhaps Mr. Gordon’s memory had brought before him 
the years of unselfish love, the never-failing devotion of that 
dead wife, for the sneer left his face, and he seemed in a 
reverie. When breakfast was ready and Kathrine called 
him gently to it, he looked up as if scarcely understanding. 
When she repeated her words and he arose with a sigh, she 
longed to throw herself on his breast and implore him, for 
the sake of the dead, to let them strive to be more to each 
other. She longed to tell him that her coldness was not 
pride, but a mask covering a lonely heart. She took a step 
toward him, but — perhaps it was accident — he turned away, 
and when he took his seat at table, his face wore the old 
fretful look, as, while eating heartily, he found fault with 
every thing. 

About starting “ down town ” Mr. Gordon said to his 
daughter: “You need not expect me to dinner. The 
boys are to have turkey and I’m invited.” Without a word 
or thought for her he went out on his way toward his haven, 
the saloon — where, if he could not play, he could at least 
look on. Kathrine, with slow tears gathering in her eyes, 


44 CHRISTMA S IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


97 


looked back in sorrow for her angry thoughts, breaking the 
sacred contract with her mother, and for that mother’s utter 
sacrifice to this selfish man ! 

She was still standing where her father had left her, when 
a knock came at the door and Em’s voice was heard. 

“ We’s a-waitin’ for you, Miss Kath.” 

Em, with baby Hannah in her arms, came in. When she 
saw the breakfast still on the table : 

“ Lor’, Miss Kath, jest you go and get ready, and I’ll 
pitch in and tidy up a bit,” she said. 

When Kathrine was ready the things were all “ ter 
rights,” and meeting Eliza and Harry at the foot of the 
trail, they started upon their walk. 

Harry’s greeting, “ Now, Kath, you’re ours for the whole 
day,” helped to lift the sadness from her heart, and the 
fresh, invigorating air and Eliza’s tender companionship 
made her feel that there was some compensation, after all. 

The trail to Eleanor Stuart’s cabin was on the face of a 
steep mountain. Unaccustomed to such a narrow path, and 
dizzied by the depths below, Em often stumbled ; so Kath- 
rine, taking the precious baby in her arms, and calling out, 
“ Now, Em, keep your eyes on me, and you’ll not be dizzy,” 
bounded on ahead. 

How strong and graceful she was, as with quick, sure 
step she led the way ! Eliza thought admiringly. 

When they reached the little cabin where Eleanor lived, 
there was a crowd of people collected at the open door, and 
groups of Indians were sitting outside. It is a fancy of 
these wild creatures to collect around any dwelling wherein 
any thing of unusual interest is taking place. Seeing them, 
Miss Gordon stopped. 

“ Something is the matter,” she said, giving Hannah to 
Em, and hurrying on. The men touched their hats when 
they saw her, and making an opening in the crowd to let 


9 8 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


her pass, she entered the little cabin, where the first act in 
the drama of a life had been played, for Kathrine looked 
on a young mother’s eyes, bright with excitement, and her 
face flushed with pride and pleasure in her new born child. 
After a few words of congratulation, she returned to Eliza, 
waiting outside, saying to her : 

“ Nellie Stuart’s baby was born last night. It is a fine 
boy. She is surrounded by people, laughing and talking. 
But when she learned that you were near, she whispered : 
* Let her come in, please. It only needs for me to see her 
sweet face, and this will be the happiest day of my life.’ I 
promised you would come, though, indeed, I think she is too 
much excited already. Still, as she expects you, come.” 

Leaving the children with Em, who, sniffing the air, said : 
“ ’Deed, I won’t go in dar, wid all dat trash,” Eliza and 
Kathrine went into the cabin. 

Nellie Stuart was sitting up in bed holding her infant. 
Except for the unnatural brightness of her eyes, she did not 
look like one who had so lately passed through a terrible 
ordeal. Her sister Polly was standing by her bedside, 
engaged in rather a broad flirtation with a miner, and the 
younger brothers and sisters were leaning on her bed. An 
old woman who looked as if she had been resurrected from 
ages past for this occasion, was taking a friendly toddy 
with another old crone. The air was heavy with tobacco 
smoke, and the noise and confusion jarred painfully on 
Eliza’s nerves as she looked at the feverish and excited 
face of the young mother. She kissed the girl’s hot brow, 
took the little one in her arms, and praised it to the full 
measure of its mother’s expectation. Her gentle voice 
seemed to have a quieting effect on the noisy group, and 
unconsciously they adopted less boisterous tones. Putting 
in the infant’s hand a gold piece, which the little fingers 
tightly closed on, she gave the child to the delighted father, 


“CHRISTMAS IN THE MOUNTAINS 99 

a boyish-looking young fellow, gazing in pride on his son 
and heir. 

“ Eleanor is too much excited ; she may be very ill, and 
the room is so full of people that the air is impure. Your 
wife’s life may depend on her being quiet,” she said to him 
in an undertone of warning. 

Then taking a chair near Nellie, she soothed her into a 
quiet sleep. When the lids closed over the too bright eyes, 
with finger to lip commanding silence, she beckoned the 
old nurse out of the cabin. 

Stillness had fallen on the room, but Kathrine knew the 
camp too well to suppose this most necessary quiet would 
long continue. They were only awaiting the departure of 
the slender figure at the door, to break once more into 
noise and jokes. Meanwhile Mrs. Merilton was making 
poor headway with the nurse, upon whom she was urging 
the necessity of Eleanor’s being kept quiet, warning her of 
the fever which was already on the girl. 

“ An’, mum, don’t yer think I knows my bizness ? Are 
yer a professional nuss wit a diplomee ter show, that yer 
comes a-teachin’ of me ? ” She wagged her head and 
showed all her toothless gums in her indignation. “ Was 
yer engaged ter bring that child, or was me, I’d jest like ter 
know ? Afore I sits down and lets a chit like yer teach me 
my bizness, I’d go a-beggin’.” 

Holding up her hand for silence, Eliza spoke : 

“ I am not trying to teach you your business. But I find 
that young mother in a dangerous condition, and unless 
you attend to her properly her death will be upon your 
soul,” she said to the angry old woman. 

The gentle voice was soft, and the face and figure youth- 
ful, but the dignity of the woman had a quiet force that 
silenced the old crone’s speech to mutterings as Mrs. 
Merilton left her. 


IOO 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ What is to be done, Kathrine ? " asked Eliza. 
“ Eleanor seems in a dangerous condition, and her nurse's 
ignorance fills me with apprehension. Shall I speak to her 
husband ? Shall I tell him he must keep the room quiet ? " 

“ It would be useless, for he is a boy, well-meaning, but 
thoughtless and weak as a child. They are a curious 
people about the camp, utterly reckless of life and death. 
I have seen daughters weep beside their mother’s corpse, 
and twenty-four hours after they had buried her, dance all 
night in her clothes. And a funeral is a gala occasion. 
Just as soon as the coffins can be made, the dead are 
hurried to the graves, a few words mumbled over them, and 
before the rocks and stones have been thrown in to fill the 
gap made for a human body, the friends and relatives are 
dashing down the road, laughing and shouting, as if amuse- 
ment, not grief, had called them together. They are like 
the Indians, utterly free from any deep feeling. And," she 
added bitterly, “ it seems to me they have the best of it in 
this troublous sea of life." 

“ Would you be like them ? " Eliza asked. “ Would such 
an existence content you ? Ah, dear friend, suffering may 
be the inheritance of a soul ; but who would be without a 
soul ? Even Undine, once possessed of hers, would not 
give it up and go back to her empty, careless existence." 

Kathrine smiled at Eliza’s earnestness. “ Sweet soul," 
she said, “ I know what new trouble is upon yours. 
Eleanor Stuart ! See that tall, lank man coming toward 
us ? He is her father. Speak to him. She has been a 
most devoted daughter, and we may arouse his fears." 

So Eliza told Mr. Hill how alarming his daughter’s con- 
dition was, and tried in every way to make him feel her 
danger. His only answer was : 

“ Well, ma’am, we has got a fust-class nuss fer her, a nuss 
with a reg’lar diploma ; an’ I guess she knows her bizness. 


“ CHRISTMAS IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


iol 


Much obliged ter yer all the same, ma’am,” he added, 
civilly. 

Was there ever an enemy to battle with equal to ignor- 
ance ? 

Eliza could do nothing more for the young mother, except 
to pray for her safety, which she did with all her tender 
heart. 

Then came the walk home, then dinner, and then more of 
Kathrine’s stories, told to an admiring audience. 

After dinner Eliza had clasped a heavy gold armlet on 
Kathrine’s wrist. “ Wear it for my sake,” she murmured. 
“ It is a token of love. My brother gave it to me years 
ago. And I would only part with it to one dear to me.” 

Kathrine looked down at the beautiful armlet, and then 
at the sweet voiced woman, gazing at her with tender eyes. 

“ Thank you,” she said. And the words came from a 
heart that, after many days, was at last in the sunshine. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“WITH THE BOYS.” 



HILE the day was passing so peacefully for his 


VV daughter, Mr. Gordon and “the boys” were 
engaged in less amiable yursuits. “ The boys,” or at least 
some of them, were doing what they called “going through 
a feller ; ” Mr. Gordon was looking on. 

On his way from Nappiasto the railroad, walking to save 
stage fare, with his money, the result of a year’s labor, in a 
little buckskin bag, came a miner. He stopped on the 
saloon porch for a few moments’ rest. Fatal moments they 
were to him ! For, seeing him take out the buckskin bag, 
and judging from its size that its contents were valuable, 
“ the boys ’’determined to get it for their own. A wink of 
the eye from Jimmy, the saloon keeper, and a quiet nod 
from Alcorn, settled the traveler’s fate. Rising from his 
chair, the captain, with his most engaging smile, approached 
the stranger, as the man had about determined to go across 
the road to where a large sign hung — “ City Restaurant.” 
The sign being such a huge affair that it put to the blush 
the tiny building where meals were served. 

In his pleasantest tones Captain Alcorn said : “ I don’t 

believe you remember me.” 

“ I’m blamed if I do,” answered the stranger. “ Travel- 
In’ around these minin’ camps, a feller meets so many 
queer sticks ’tain’t possible to remember them all.” 

“Well, you see,” and despite the angry flush that swept 
over his face, the captain’s smile was as suave as ever, “ my 


“ WITH THE BOYS. 


103 


memory is better than yours. I met you fifteen years ago 
at Bodie.” 

“ No, mister, you’re mistaken. You never seed me in 
Bodie.” Then after a little thought — “ I had a brother 
there ; Billy, poor Billy. He went to Bodie fifteen years 
past, and we ain’t never heard from him since. How was 
he lookin’ ? ” At the mention of his brother the man re- 
seated himself and turned an interested face to the cap- 
tain. 

“ Well,” answered Alcorn, drawing a chair near the stran- 
ger and half closing his eyes, as if he were taking a critical 
survey of the man’s every peculiarity. “ Well, he looked a 
good deal like you, only younger.” 

“ Younger, I should say so. He was only a lad. Not 
much older than one of my boys. Poor Billy ! I often 
think o’ him when I’m lyin’ awake nights. I wonder ef he’s 
really dead or potterin’ away in some minin’ camp, ashamed 
to go home ’cause he's got poorer and none richer. Tell 
me, mister, was he well ? And when was it you seed him 
last ? ” 

“ He was looking very well. I saw him fifteen years ago 
to the day. Ah ! Billy was a fine fellow ! ” 

“ You may well say that. He was the pride o’ us all. 
Hed lots o’ book lamin’ in that head o’ his’n. And to think 
he’s jest slipped away from us ! It broke the old man’s 
heart. Arter a year or two, when no news came from the 
boy, the pride o’ his old age, father jest sickened an’ died. 
Your news is jest six months later’n mine. Wal, mister, I’m 
obleeged to you for your good words o’ our Billy. Good 
mornin’,” and he started to go. But Alcorn was not intend- 
ing to permit that^ 

“ No, no, my boy, you can't part from an old friend of 
your brother’s without a drink. Billy’s brother is a friend 
of mine, for Billy's sake.” 


104 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Pleased with the affection with which Alcorn spoke of his 
brother, the stranger entered the saloon. 

“ Saloon Jimmy ” was mixing some drinks. “ Come, 
Jimmy/' called out the captain, “ mix two of your very best 
for us. I am going to take a parting drink with the brother 
of an old friend. Let me make you acquainted, gentlemen,” 
said the captain, “ Mr. James Brush and Mr. — ” 

“ Thomas Owen, commonly called Tom,” said the stran- 
ger, not nodcing the captain’s apparent ignorance of the 
last name of the brother of a dear friend. 

“ Glad, very glad to meet you, Mr. Owen,” and little 
Jimmy Brush grasped the stranger’s hand with an affection- 
ate warmth really touching to see. 

“And now, mister,” said Tom, “I’d like to know your 
name.” 

“ Captain Alcorn, commonly called Cap.” 

“ Well, Cap, then, I’m uncommon glad to know a man as 
used to like my brother.” In his hearty good-will Tom gave 
Alcorn a slap on the shoulder that nearly threw him down. 
Smothering a curse, for it was his rheumatic side, Alcorn’s 
blue eyes beamed with friendliness on Tom. The drink 
was mixed and proved so good that Tom said : “ That’s 

the stuff. It’s my treat now. .You, too, mister,” he said to 
Jimmy, “ and the old cove yonder.” He turned and beck- 
oned to Mr. Gordon, who was standing at the door, looking 
wistfully in. At this invitation he advanced eagerly, and 
despite his fallen estate, looked so much the gentleman that 
Tom said: “I guess you’re none of a miner. Once a 
capitalist, and dead broke, eh, old fellow ? ” 

Tom’s head was beginning to grow light ; it was evidently 
not as strong as the hand he extended to “ the old cove,” 
giving his such a hearty shake that his hat fell off. But 
Mr. Gordon didn’t mind that ; he was too delighted at the 
prospect of a “ good square drink.” 


WITH THE BOYS. 


After the second drink Jimmy had to treat. It was use- 
less for Tom to beg off ; he must take it ; and so he did. 

Alas ! after that he had no further inclination to go. 
And when Alcorn said : “ Why not stay all day ? Cabin 

with me to-night and to-morrow take an early start,” Tom 
readily consented. His face was reddened with the liquor 
he had taken and he was full of good-humor. His eyes had 
that half-drunken look, the saddest of all expressions human 
eyes can wear — the saddest, for it is an index that an im- 
mortal soul has bartered its judgment, and is making ready 
for any sin, any crime, that the hour and temptation may 
present. Tom had toiled for a year at a neighboring camp 
and saved his money to pay off a mortgage on a little ranch 
belonging to his wife, a mortgage she had placed on it for 
doctor’s bills when he was sick. He had left home a year 
ago swearing he would never return until he brought enough 
money to free her home from debt. Yet now, because he 
had been mad enough to drink, he was about to hazard that 
home. 

A pack of cards was produced, and at Alcorn’s, “ Come, 
boys, let’s try our luck,” Tom took a proffered chair. He 
pulled out from his pocket a handful of silver, saying, as he 
threw it on the table, “ I’ll risk that and no more.” 

Alcorn, who had been quietly supplied by Jimmy, drew 
out a handful of gold, and imitating Tom’s example, put it 
on the table and said, “ I’ll risk that and no more.” 

Involuntarily, Tom’s hand started for his gold. But he 
had not yet utterly lost his better self. The man was not 
quite washed away by those fatal waters that make the Lethe 
of good resolves and noble impulse. The faces of his wife 
and boys as they stood at their door waving him good-by 
rose above the fumes of liquor, and the temptation was con- 
quered for this time. 

“ Well,” he said, with a laugh, “ I be almost too poor to 


ro 6 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


play with a rich fellow like you. But here goes." And so 
the game began. 

It is too old a story to repeat ; — the excitement, the awful 
temptation of the gaming table, the pile of money becoming 
less and less, the strained, agonized face of the loser and 
the bland quiet of the winner, the mad recklessness increas- 
ing as the game goes on, and the drink called for to allay the 
burning thirst it but increases. 

The captain and Tom were the only players. Jimmy 
looked on, getting glimpses of Tom’s cards, which by signs 
known to them alone, and unnoticed by the crowd surround- 
ing the table, he communicated to Alcorn. In a little 
while Tom’s silver had gone over to Alcorn’s gold. “ I’ll 
hazard just one gold piece to change luck, since gold’s the 
winning color," he said, throwing the bright piece on the 
table. And each of its comrades followed so quickly, that 
evening had not yet fallen to cover this scene of shame when 
Tom found that but one remained of all the pretty yellow 
fellows once hidden in the long bag. It sobered him a little 
as he took it out and looked at it. He rubbed his eyes, 
striving to clear away the drunken mist. 

“The last one,” he muttered. “Well," he added reck- 
lessly, “ one won’t do the old woman no good. And per- 
haps if it’s lucky it may win back the others. Here goes." 
He had nearly put it on the table when he looked up and 
caught sight of the pale face of Mr. Gordon, whose black 
eyes were shining, full of the excitement of the game and 
the longing to partake in it. 

“ Here, old cove,” said Tom, “ you play for me. Here’s 
my last twenty. You’ll have half of all you win.” 

With delight the old man accepted the invitation, and ea- 
gerly extended his nervous fingers for the cards. What 
pleasure once more to feel them in his grasp ! He would 
win, he surely would. With the natural instincts of an old 


with the boys: 


n 


>> 


107 


gambler, he guarded well his cards and Jimmy found the 
game a different affair, than when unsuspecting Tom held 
his hand out for any scoundrel to see. Fickle Fortune fa- 
vored the old man. One by one the gold pieces came back 
to Tom’s last, until twenty shining ones ranged themselves 
to battle for the right. 

But alas for the right when its battles are fought at 
the gaming table ! Calling Jimmy, the captain asked him 
to hold the cards for him while he took a stretch. He was 
ghastly with rage ; his fingers longed to grasp the thin neck 
of the old man who had so changed the aspect of affairs. 
He would have felt a positive joy in strangling the life out 
of him, and could hardly restrain himself from killing him 
on the spot. Jimmy, too, was rather anxious. But they 
had been in like straits before, and Cap’s “ ingenuity ” had 
always delivered them safely, so he took the place at the 
table and began a careful game. 

Luck was still favoring Mr. Gordon. Two more bright 
pieces joined his little army. The crowd of lookers-on 
pressed closer and closer to the table. Jimmy kept his eyes 
partly on his cards, partly on the face of Alcorn, who had 
stationed himself at Mr. Gordon’s side and was watchful of 
every chance for a peep at his cards. At Gordon’s right 
sat Tom, too drunk to feel the great wrong he had done 
those he was bound to protect. He grew exceedingly jolly 
over each new winning of the “ old cove,” greeting with 
drunken outbursts each time the thin, nervous hands swept 
in a fresh ally to his “ pile.” 

“ The devil’s in the cards,” Alcorn muttered between his 
teeth, as, despite every effort, there were now thirty yellow 
men at Gordon’s left hand. But never once relaxing his 
watchfulness, he stood, unmindful of fatigue, unmindful that 
the day had gone, unmindful of every thing but those cards 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


108 

in Gordon’s hands. The dusk of evening came, the lamps 
were lighted, and still the players kept on. 

The watchers still crowded around the table. No one 
remembered home or its duties. 

There was a hand when each felt sure of success. The 
betting grew high. In the center of the table was a heap of 
twenty pieces. 

Bluffed off, Jimmy was about to give up, when he caught 
a wink from Alcorn, who at last had had his opportunity, 
and he called the cards. 

Just as Alcorn gave the wink, Gordon turned and saw it. 
His eyes looked like coals in his white face. The veins 
stood out over his forehead, the lips, compressed, hid their 
weakness, as he started from his seat and cried out fiercely : 

“ You saw my cards and gave me away ! ” 

“ You lie,” answered Alcorn. 

The old man raised one hand, perhaps to strike, perhaps 
to warn. Alcorn picked up a heavy stick that lay there, 
and brought it down with such force on the uncovered 
gray head that in an instant the tall, thin figure lay bleeding 
and senseless at his feet. As Gordon fell, Tom sprang 
toward Alcorn, cursing him and clinching his fist for a 
blow. Alcorn’s hand went to the pistol pocket. In a mo- 
ment more there might have been another bleeding victim 
on the floor. 

But Tom, grasped in a pair of powerful arms, was thrown 
aside, as the bullet whizzed past, and Si, who had come into 
the saloon when Alcorn’s warning sign gave Jimmy the 
game, whispered in his ear : 

“ Yer fool, keep quiet. Yer drunk. Yer money’s most 
gone. Take the little that’s left yer, an’ save yer life ter 
make more for the pore little woman.” 

“Si Doone,” muttered Tom, quite sobered now. 

He looked around. Except for themselves and the 


‘ WITH THE BOY ST 


109 

bleeding body on the floor the saloon was empty. Of all 
the men lately crowding around the gamesters, not one 
remained to offer his help. When Tom had sprung toward 
Alcorn, and the captain had grasped his pistol, the group 
of lookers-on had disappeared. “ Muzzled,” as one of 
Em’s admirers said, when he described the scene. One or 
two straggled in while Si and Tom strove to bring back 
consciousness to the old man. How very old and thin he 
looked, as he lay stretched on a bench, with the blood slowly 
dripping from a ghastly wound in his head ! 

After quietly surveying him for a moment, Alcorn had 
walked up to the justice and surrendered himself amid a 
subdued murmur of admiration from the men outside. 
Calling a jury from among the crowd, the minister of the 
law retired to an adjoining cabin. 

In less than ten minutes, Alcorn was acquitted. “ Self- 
defense,” decided the jury, and grasping in congratulation 
the hand yet red with the blood of a fellow being, they all 
went into the saloon to look at the injured man, appealing 
to them, not only with his gaping wound, but with his age 
and feebleness. 

But if any heart was touched, no word gave utterance to 
the feeling. Not a hand was extended in pity but those of 
Si and Tom. Alcorn, honorably discharged by the worthy 
justice and twelve freeborn citizens, walked around with 
another feather in his cap ! 

Except for the faint breath that came at long intervals 
from the opened lips, there were no tokens of life about the 
bleeding body. They had striven to stay the drip, drip of 
this terrible red stream, but it made its way through band- 
ages, and wrote its horrid characters on the pallid face. 

There was no doctor within a hundred miles, so if a man 
needed other than simplest treatment, he needs must die. 
They had come to this conclusion, and Tom had just said : 


IIO 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ Poor old cove, I’m sorry to see you die. I’d give all the 
darned money I ever had, jest to see you lookin’ as fierce 
as you did when you turned on that damn rascal — ” when, 
brushing past the men collected at the doorway, pale as 
death, and without hat or shawl, Kathrine Gordon stood 
before them. 


CHAPTER XV. 


NOBLE DUTY. 

“POOR little gal ! ” Si said under his breath. 

I She had had a quiet, peaceful day. In the sweet 
atmosphere of Eliza’s home the bitterness of the morning 
had disappeared. The children were in bed, Em in her 
kitchen, and, with hands clasped together, the two women 
had been sitting in tender companionship, as quick steps 
came up the trail and they heard a shout : 

“ Miss Gordon, yer father’s dead in the saloon. Cap 
killed him, and the jury sed it was self-defense.” The 
words brought her back from hope and the possibilities of 
happiness, to a horrible reality. 

God have mercy ! 

Only this morning she had spoken unkindly to him, had 
felt his cruelty too great to be borne. And now she was 
liberated, by a fearful death ! 

“ Mercy, mercy ! ” shrieked her agonized heart, “ spare 
me this self-reproach, that will blacken my life forever ! ” 
But she spoke no word. 

“ I will go with you,” said Eliza, white as a spirit. 

“ No, you can not help. Stay with your children, and,” 
for a strange look in Eliza’s face frightened her, “ don’t 
worry. It may not be so bad as the child says,” was Kath- 
rine’s answer. Before the words died on the air, she was 
rushing down the road, and Eliza, with a faint cry for “Em,” 
had fallen in a swoon. 

Trembling in every limb, pale, breathless, horrified, Kath- 


1 1 2 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


rine stood before the body of her father. The room went 
round and round before her ; she could see nothing but 
that ghastly bleeding head. 

She must control herself. Perhaps he would live long 
enough to say he forgave her. 

“ Grant it, oh God ! ” cried the poor heart, busy with its 
self-reproach. But her lips did not move, and she turned 
so ghastly white that Si brought some brandy. 

“Take it, missy; take it,” he said. She swallowed a 
little and was revived. Then bending over her father she 
felt his pulse. It was very weak, but regular. Hope came 
to her and with it strength. 

“ Can you get him home ? ” she said to Si. “ I will hurry 
on and have every thing ready.” 

“ Yes, jest go, child,” said Si, hardly keeping back his 
tears of pity for her. “ Yer jest go ; we’ll fix the ole man.” 

So she went as quickly as she could to arrange matters. 
But a friend had been before her. 

The lamp was lit, the bed was ready, and Em was waiting 
to help. “ Miss ’Liza sent me,” she said. 

Thanking her with a look, Kathrine took out her medicines, 
some linen for bandages, and then stood “ waiting for 
father.” How often had she waited as a child outside some 
saloon with her beloved mother ! How often had she 
watched that mother’s face, full of pain, pressed against the 
window, looking in on that other face, flushed with the 
fever, the madness, of gambling ! How often had she im- 
petuously urged that mother to leave the cruel man, who 
was breaking her heart ! And how often had those gentle 
words, “ Darling, I can not. Be patient with him for my 
sake,” been whispered in her ear, while tender arms em- 
braced her. And now, could she face that mother in the 
other world, when she had so poorly kept her command : 
“ Be patient and forbearing ” ? 


NOBLE DUTY. 


113 

The girl's proud heart was full to breaking, as she sat 
thinking, suffering, listening, while slowly, slowly, came the 
measured tread of men who bear a senseless body. Who 
can hear that without a shudder ? Kathrine trembled, again 
turning faint, and again conquering herself, as gently plac- 
ing the unconscious man on the bed, Si and Tom, at her 
request, left the father to the daughter’s care. With trem- 
bling fingers she undid the bandages and examined the 
wound. It was long, but not deep. She had some slight 
experience in the dressing of wounds, and calling her will 
to master her terror, she forced herself to remember. The 
wound dressed, his lips moistened with, a restorative, she 
began to hope. “ It was the shock which stunned him. Un- 
less there is some internal injury, I do not believe this will 
prove serious,” she said to Em, with lips whose trembling 
almost prevented speech. After a little while, Mr. Gordon 
opened his eyes and seemed to know her, when he fell into 
a quiet sleep. 

Sending Em back to her mistress with grateful thanks for 
the goodness of both, Kathrine watched beside the sick bed. 
And Christmas night looked down on a scene of a daugh- 
ter’s noble duty. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


“ THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR.” 

M ORNING found the wounded man in a quiet slumber, 
and his daughter at his bedside. He was sleeping 
peacefully ; she, too, was resting in order to keep her 
strength for his service. 

In all her poor little Christmas finery, just as when the 
news of his injury had reached her, she had thrown herself 
on the lounge, where his lightest call would waken her. The 
sunlight stealing in, touched the eyes of the wounded man 
and opened them. He raised himself in bed. The pain in 
his head awakened memory, and his daughter’s pale face 
filled in the gap. “ Poor little girl,” he said gently, as the 
incidents of the past day came before him, “ she has been 
watching over me all night. It would be better for her had 
I died.” It was the first grateful thought he gave her. Day 
and night she watched and nursed him ; listened to his 
every word, obeyed his lightest wish ; and on the seventh 
day he was sitting by the fire, in comfort, reading the papers, 
quite himself, except for weakness. The pain was gone 
from his head, the soreness from his body ; and the gentle- 
ness, which had been her payment, vanished from his face 
and tone. 

The resolutions and gratitude of sickness take to them- 
selves wings as health returns. 

It was the last day of the year. The weather, that had 
been delightful and spring-like, changed to storm and wind. 
The snow fell fitfully, and the wind with its mighty roar 


“ THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR." 


US 

rushed down the canyon. Yet Kathrine must be “ up and 
doing/’ There was the ledge, the work on which she had 
perforce left undone. 

A strange restlessness possessed her. And yet, what had 
she to fear ? Could there be one so base as to steal from 
her this most prized property, that affliction had forced her 
to leave unprotected ? Even she, with her experiences of 
human nature, could not believe it. For every one had been 
kind. Si, Bob, and Tom, the innocent cause of this injury, 
had called daily to see Mr. Gordon, and most of the men 
had come up to the cabin to inquire for him. The day pre- 
vious Captain Alcorn had sent a message by one of the fre- 
quenters of the saloon. “ Cap says,” the man had said to 
Gordon, while a comical expression came over his face, 
“ Cap says, as how he don’t bear no malice, and will be glad 
to welcome you down town again. Don’t you call that 
handsome ?” 

Katharine, who had been busy about some house duties, 
turned at these words and looked at her father with sinking 
heart. “ Did he say that ? ” he answered eagerly, while his 
pale face flushed with pleasure. His nature, fretful and 
selfish, was too weak to hold the memory of an injury. The 
only strong feeling of which he seemed capable was his pas- 
sion for gambling ; and, in a lesser degree, its generally ac- 
companying desire for liquor. 

While he had been ill, his daughter’s devotion, her years 
of patient toil, her constant labor to obtain for him the 
means of living, had made him resolve, if ever he grew 
stronger, to be a better father to her — even to give up gam- 
bling. But as day by day he grew better, the good resolu- 
tions weakened. 

And when he was able to move about without pain, his 
selfishness obscured the light of his daughter’s noble con- 
duct. He began to wonder how he could pass the time in 


n6 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


this “ damned hole,” now the only saloon was closed against 
him, for Alcorn was the power at whose will the door was 
opened to admit the seeker for distraction. 

This message from the captain flushed his face with 
pleasure. It implied an invitation — an invitation he was 
longing to accept. 

Kathrine's heart rose in silent, but indignant, protest. 
Was it always to be thus with her ? Forever cast aside 
when no longer necessary ? Then she hastened to finish 
her household duties. She had no time to lose. For on this 
last day of the year she must brave storm and wind, and, if 
necessary, battle for her ledge. She had asked Tom to 
spend the day with her father while she watched over the 
“ Monster.” “ Not that I believe in this camp there’d be 
one mean enough to ‘ jump ’ it. Still I feel I must have 
some one guarding it,” she said. 

“ Let me go, miss,” Tom had answered ; “ I swear to you 
I’ll knock the head off of any feller as dars to come 
a-near it.” 

He had looked so kindly as he spoke that she half hesi- 
tated. But her father liked Tom, was amused by him, and 
Mr. Gordon was becoming decidedly bored by his daugh- 
ter’s society, and had proposed once or twice to go out 
“ just for a turn and to take the air.” 

He was not yet strong enough. And what danger was 
there in going to “ The Monster.” She would be amid the 
rocks and trees, friends who had never betrayed her. There 
would come no one to molest her, or to attempt to “ jump ” 
the ledge. So she had smiled and said : 

“No, Tom; you can help me more by staying with 
father. There is really no necessity for any one to go to 
the mine. But I am foolishly anxious about it ; I have 
worked it so long. All my hope is so built upon it that I’ve 
grown to feel to it as a mother to her child.” 


14 the last day of the year. 


IT 7 

Only half satisfied, Tom promised to be with Mr. Gor- 
don early the next morning. He felt almost ready to 
quarrel with Si, who had not offered to go with Miss Gor- 
don and do any fighting that might be necessary. Miss 
Gordon herself had wondered a little that Si, who had 
been near Tom, had not offered his services. He had 
always been ready to do her any kindness, and she had a 
sincere respect and liking for the old man, who was a fine 
type of the honest and capable miner. 

But Si seemed intent on some thought which was broad- 
ening his mouth into wide smiles, when, having arranged 
the matter with Tom, Miss Gordon closed the door, he 
broke into one of his great “ha-ha’s,” and laughed until 
the tears rolled down his face. It required all Tom’s grati- 
tude to keep him from fighting the big fellow, as the two 
stood alone on the road. He had to remind himself that 
Si had not only saved him from Alcorn’s pistol, but had 
shared his cabin and “ grub ” with him ; and that he had 
opened his money bag and given him almost all his own 
savings to send the wife at home for interest on the mort- 
gage, for sole security taking only his word. “ Well, Si, I’m 
glad you think it’s so funny. I’m sure I don’t see 
nothin' to laugh at in a young gal’s havin’ to go alone up 
to a mine, and perhaps be killed on that lonely mountain, 
while great hulks o’ fellers is jest a-holdin’ up the saloon 
counters with their heels,” Tom said, when his anger had 
somewhat cooled. 

“Well, old boy,” answered Si, his laugh being over, 
“ don’t jedge me so hard.” 

Then Tom felt so sorry for his words that he could 
have fallen on his knees on the roadside and begged 
pardon of the “ finest man ” he had ever known. 

When the last day of December broke in storm, a great 
depression came over Kathrine. She had to battle with 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


11S 

it as best she could. There was no one to whom she could 
turn and say, “ Give me comfort,” only Eliza, and she could 
not say a word to trouble that gentle creature. So she tidied 
the house with a heart like lead in her breast ; and when 
Tom arrived she was cloaked and hooded for the trip. 

“Where are you going, Kathrine?” her father asked, 
peevishly. His fretfulness did not make the day brighter, 
but she answered with a smile : 

“ I am going to watch the ‘ Monster Ledge ’ until after 
midnight. Tom will stay with you and won’t give you a 
chance to miss me. And, Tom,” she added, throwing open 
the door of her little room, “ there’s a bed for you.” 

“ No, no, miss, I’m here to tend the old gent ; I’ll jest 
sit up and watch him till I sees your face a-comin’ in that 
door.” So Kathrine said “ Good-by,” and touched her 
lips to her father’s cheek. 

“ You’re a fool to go, Kathrine. But I suppose you’d 
be miserable if you didn’t have your own way. Women 
are all so, Tom,” was her father’s adieu. 

Tom nodded and smiled, though he didn’t agree with 
the “ old cove,” as he called Mr. Gordon. Before Kath- 
rine closed the door she heard her father beginning to 
joke, and as she stood for a second on the door-step, his 
laugh fell on her ear. Already he had dismissed her 
from his thoughts ! “ And this was the best her faithful 

duty could win ! ” whispered her rebellious heart. She 
would not listen to its whisperings, traitor that it was, as 
ready with its blame for her as with censure for wrongs 
done to her. To exorcise the hardness that was creeping 
over her, she looked up at Eliza’s window, and smiled 
back an answer to the smiling face there. Harry opened 
the door and ran to her. The snow fell around him and 
clung to the short curls of his hair, making him handsomer 
than ever as he put his arms around her. 


THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR. 


H 


Il 9 


“ Don’t go, Kath dear. Mamma says please come and 
spend the day with her. She says she knows your ledge is 
safe,” he pleaded, holding to her with all his strength. 

Kathrine had never felt so weak. She could hardly 
resist his invitation and the loving arms thrown in entreaty 
about her, but she had labored too long for the ledge to lose 
one chance of keeping it. Should any one have con- 
ceived the base purpose of “ jumping ” it, the knowl- 
edge that she had gone to watch it, surely would shame 
even a fiend from the deed, she thought. 

So she unclasped Harry’s arms, and kissing his rosy 
cheeks, said : 

“ I, too, dear boy, believe the ledge is safe ; but still I 
must watch it. Give mamma my love. I will see her 
to-morrow. Now run in out of the storm.” She looked 
after him as he ran up the trail to the cottage. When he 
turned his bright face to throw a last kiss to her, before 
closing the door, she sighed as she hoped that the happy 
young life might be saved from the bitterness of the world. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


“ THE DEFENSE OF THE ‘ MONSTER 

W HILE Kathrine saddled her horse, hot tears were fall- 
ing on her hands. Ashamed of her weakness, yet 
unable to control her depression, she mounted Frank, and 
putting him into a fast trot, waved and bowed to Eliza as 
she passed. 

How brave and handsome she looked, dashing down the 
road ! And Nellie following, with glad barks, as if the ride 
was for her especial pleasure. Who would have imagined, 
seeing that strong, self-reliant woman, that she was assailed 
by as many doubts and misgivings as a child making its 
first step alone ? 

The wind blew the snow fiercely against her face. Sharp 
as tiny stones, it stung the tender flesh. As they crossed 
the first summit and turned to the high mountain, they met 
the storm in full force. Even Frank, the good horse, who 
had ever obeyed her lightest touch, stopped, shivered, and 
refused to go further. 

Nellie, with tail between her legs, softly whining, looked 
pleadingly toward her mistress. For the first time these 
faithful animals asserted another will than hers. 

“ It is an omen/' she said. “ There is some evil coming 
to me. Perhaps some one will jump my ledge ! Keep it 
for me, O Lord ! ” And with the cruel snow beating upon 
her uplifted face, she raised her eyes in prayer. How 
leaden gray the sky was ! Not a rift in the clouds ! Not 
a sign of break to the storm ! Was this the answer to her 


“ THE DEFENSE OF THE 'MONSTER ' I2 i 

prayer ? cried out her heart. Encouraged by the pause, 
Frank began to journey homeward, and Nell, recovering 
her spirits, wagged her tail and ran on ahead, barking. 
With a sharp pull on the reins Frank was brought to order, 
and, calling out with cheery voice, “ Why, Nell ! Frank, old 
man, you make me ashamed of you ! ” they started once 
more for the mountains. Very slowly, however, for the 
snow had drifted heavily, and hid the narrow trail, making 
every advance perilous. Conscious of his precious burden, 
Frank felt each step, and Nellie meekly followed him. The 
trail crossed the gulch not far from Si’s cabin. How snug 
it looked ! Any shelter was comfort in a storm like this. 
Again the horse and dog stopped, as their mistress gazed 
down the canyon. A host of fears and doubts assailed 
Kathrine. “ I despise myself for a coward,” she said. 
“ But to-day I can not overcome it. I’ll ride to the door 
and ask Si to come with me.” Despite her contempt, she 
was relieved and pleased with this self-indulgence, as, riding 
up to the door, she knocked without dismounting. No 
answer, and no sign of life. Springing to the ground, she 
tried the door. It was unfastened, so she went in. The 
room was empty. On the hearth there was scarcely an 
ember. And the cabin, that from the mountain trail had 
looked so comfortable, was cold and cheerless. 

She shivered. And her foolish heart grew heavier and 
heavier as it whispered : “ It is ever thus for thee. When 
thou need’st help thou shalt find only a cold blank void.” 
“ Hush ! ” she said aloud, as though she spoke to some one 
as she turned to go. Her eyes fell on some matches. In- 
stinctively she put her hand to her pocket. “ Mine are 

there I know, but still ” Both matchsafe and pistol 

were gone ! She had forgotten them ! And now as she 
stood memory flashed upon her, how she had left them side 
by side, upon the table, when she had stopped to attend to 


122 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


some request of her father’s. “ The pistol we don’t need, 
Nellie,” she said, as the dog fawned upon her and seemed 
to understand. “ For I don’t think another than ourselves 
will brave this storm. But the matches ! We might have 
been frozen, and no one guessed our fate ! ” And she 
shuddered, as fearful tales of miners straying from the trail 
and frozen amid these very mountains came back to her. 
Then she grew stronger, saying, 

“ It was a good omen, not evil, that made me hesitate,” 
and she kissed the matches, whereon their lives depended. 
Putting them carefully in a tin box, and fastening it 
securely to her saddle, she said with a smile : “ Si, old friend, 
you’ve helped me again.” Then closing the door, once 
more mounted, and started off for the mountains. Up, up, 
on the narrow trail. Bending low to pass under the snow- 
laden boughs of the pines, that scattered a freezing shower 
on them, as they went, across great rocks the wind had 
blown almost free from snow, leaving only enough to make 
them slippery and more dangerous ; looking down on fear- 
ful abysses ; and up, where the mighty mountains still 
towered above ; stopping a moment for breath and then 
pushing on again ; holding the reins with firm, quiet hand, 
although her fingers were aching with the cold, and speak- 
ing cheering words to exhausted horse and dog, from almost 
frozen lips, thus journeyed this brave woman. At last, way 
up ; far, far away, yet in sight, was the snow-covered dump of 
the Monster ledge. “ On, Frank ! Up, Nell ! ” And spurred 
to fresh exertion the dog and horse put out fresh efforts. 
When they reached the mouth of the tunnel Kathrine was 
so stiff with the cold, she fell, dismounting. But she strug- 
gled to her feet, and, steadying herself against the rocks > 
led Frank into the tunnel where he was sheltered from the 
pitiless storm. She soon had a fire out of some dry wood she 
had left when she last worked on the mine, and as its bright 


“ THE DEFENSE OF THE ‘ MONSTER 


123 


blaze leaped up, and warmed their half frozen limbs, they 
began to feel quite at home. Frank with his nose in his 
feed-bag, and Nellie stretched before the blessed heat, made 
a cozy party, Kathrine thought, as she shared lunch with 
her. 

The storm still raging outside sending in an occasional 
gust of wind and smoke, only made them the more appreci- 
ate their comforts. “ We can laugh at the storm, Nell,” said 
Kathrine. 

After she had rested, lightinga candle, and with Nell close 
beside her, she walked through the tunnel to where she had 
been working, and measured the feet made. “ Ten. Pretty 
good for a woman. Isn’t it, Nell ? For if we’d had money, 
which we haven’t, and had let the contract, ten feet would 
have cost us nearly one hundred dollars. Well, Nell, next 
year, if we don’t find a rich partner, we’ll do our assessment 
work in the summer. Won’t we ? ” 

Nell’s only answer was a very busy wagging of her tail, 
and several unsuccessful efforts to jump high enough to 
put her nose in her mistress’s face. 

They were a picture thus together in the tunnel, the 
setter dog, and the tall, proud woman, whose beautiful eyes 
were full of hope as she looked on the gold-filled rock and 
thought of the wealth it held ; the riches it would yield, 
when once tapped with the magic wand of capital. 

“ Money, thou keystone of life,” she murmured, as stand- 
ing there, with the candle lighting up her face, she thought 
of the miseries wealth could alleviate. Of the miners, 
maimed, blinded by some explosion, who, after their dar- 
ing and hard work, were left to drag out their miserable 
remnant of life as best they could. And she vowed when 
she made her fortune she would help them. She thought of 
the poor prospectors battling against overwhelming diffi- 
culties, enduring privations of every kind, finding some- 


124 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


thing at last out of which some sharper makes a fortune, but 
the poor prospector is poor still, and dies almost destitute, 
sometimes starving. And she vowed, when she had the 
power, she would seek out such and protect their rights. 

Then feeling the uselessness of all noble purpose while 
the purse is empty, with a sigh Kathrine turned, and 
walked to the shaft where, unknown to her, Si and Bob had 
been working. She kneeled and leaned over it, trying to see 
down. The candle’s light only made the darkness blacker. 
“ It was cruel in whoever took my ladder. But I forgive 
them. We mustn’t bear malice the last day of the year, must 
we, Nell?” And Nell, taking advantage of her mistress’s 
position, put a dog’s kiss right in her face. 

Laughing, Kathrine gently pushed her away, and as her 
hand touched the bottom of the tunnel it came upon a soft 
heap of dirt. “ Fresh dirt! How did it come here?” 
She caught hold of the rope that hung down the shaft, and 
pulled it up. It was just as she had tied it the day she 
came to go down the ladder, and found it gone. “ Well,” 
with a shrug of the shoulders, “ this is among the unaccount- 
ables.” Then she walked back to the mouth of the tunnel, 
patted Frank, replenished the fire, and wrapping herself in 
her blanket, tired out, fell asleep. 

When she wakened Nell was guarding her, the fire was 
almost dead, and the snow had ceased. The wind still 
blew, but the sky was clear and beautiful and the moon 
shone with dazzling brightness over the snow-covered 
mountains, givingto each object the clearness of day. 

“ The year begins well,” said Kathrine, as noting the 
moon’s position she knew midnight had passed. “ Come, 
Nell, old girl, let’s go and take a look at the stakes, just to 
wish them a happy New Year.” 

She threw a shawl over her head and, followed by pretty 
Nell, started on the snowy trail. Sure-footed as she was 


“ THE DEFENSE OF THE ' MONSTER V 


125 


she had several tumbles and many a laugh at her own 
awkwardness. With her laughing and her falls she was 
quite out of breath, and stopped for a moment to rest, while 
Nell ran on ahead. 

Presently she heard the dog bark furiously, then snarl in 
a way unusual to her, and then cry out, as if in pain. 
Alarmed, she hurried on. As she passed a huge rock that 
jutted in the trail, she saw that which sent her blood like ice 
back to her heart and then coursing madly through her veins. 

There, almost within reach of her outstretched hand, was 
Nell, her dog, dear as human companion, in the grasp of a 
man ! His knee was on her body, and his hands holding 
back the pretty brown head and stretching out the white 
throat, while a voice she knew well called, “ Quick ” to 
another man, just drawing his knife from his sheath. She 
could see the cruel steel glitter in the moonlight. 

“ Cowards ! ” she cried so loud that it startled the man 
from his knees ; and Nell, freed, sprang to her mistress. 
“ Cowards ! ” and with blazing eyes and lips curled with 
scorn, Kathrine faced Alcorn and Murphy. 

Her shawl had fallen off. Uncovered, in the biting cold, 
she heeded it not. Her brain seemed on fire. She knew 
what had brought them here. In her soul was a sicken- 
ing foreboding of what was coming, and through her 
mind rushed wildly a thousand plans to overcome this thief, 
who, in the dead of night, was here to rob, what his cruelty 
had jeopardized. Nothing but brute force would have power 
with this villain. And what force had she to strike down 
two men ? 

“ Help me, oh God ! Mother ! ” And through the rag- 
ing tempest that tore her soul, went up this pitiful, unspoken 
cry. Partly to gain time, partly to force Alcorn to declare 
his purpose, she asked, in a voice deepened by her intense 
feeling : 


126 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


“ What do you want here ? ” 

“ What do I want here ? That’s good ! ” he sneered. 
Then, with a coarse, brutal laugh, “ I want this ledge, and 
mean to have it too, despite you. Tear down her monu- 
ment, Murphy, and place mine there.” 

Rob her of her years of toil ! Her every future hope ! 
Oh, for her pistol ! While this mad rage was on her, she 
could have seen him dead at her feet, and felt no pity. 

“ You do not touch that pile of rocks while I live to pro- 
tect it. Look in that tunnel ; ” and with trembling hand 
and vehement gesture, she pointed whence she came. “ You 
will find, woman as I am, more work done there in the 
thirteen days than you for any forty, on claims you’ve 
held for years. Would you by a quibble of the law rob a 
daughter, who, by your own cruel act, has been kept from 
fulfilling that law’s requirements ? Are you a fiend, that 
you stand gibbering and laughing at your own hideous 
sins ? ” 

“ Ha, ha ! Your temper is enough to keep me warm in 
winter.” And with his eyes whitening in rage, and sneers 
distorting his face, Alcorn looked the fiend she called him. 
“But,” he hissed, “your temper is of no avail. Though 
you shrieked until you dropped dead, I would step over 
your body and take this ledge ! The law requires twenty 
days of labor on each claim, or else it may pass into other 
hands. You lack seven days of the law’s demand, so this 
claim has passed to me. Tear down her monument, 
Murphy ; don’t stand gaping like a fool ! ” 

Slowly, unwillingly, the young man started to do his bid- 
ding. “ Murphy ! ” Out of Kathrine’s voice all scorn had 
died. With clasped hands and pleading eyes she looked at 
him. “ Dare you think of the mother who bore you and 
help a villain to rob a woman ? Remember the proud 
legend of your native land. ‘ Poor, oppressed, yet has 


“ THE DEFENSE OF THE ‘ MONSTER V’ 


127 


never Ireland’s son wronged a woman.’ In the name of 
God I appeal to you ; and as you deal with me will it be 
near you at your dying hour.” 

Moved beyond himself, touched in every tender memory, 
the Irishman threw down the pick he had raised to strike 
the little tower of stones, and looked at Alcorn. 

“ Cap, ye may as well harm me furst as last. I’ll not 
wrong this young leddy. Nor, be me soul, will it be me 
that teches her property.” Saying this, fearing to trust 
himself within Alcorn’s influence, he turned and left 
them. Leaping down the trail, in spite of the snow, he was 
soon far on his way. As Alcorn started after, to hold and 
detain him, Kathrine snatched the fallen pick. She held 
it close to her, that it might be unnoticed ; but she grasped 
it tightly, ready for an emergency, standing bravely before 
her monument. 

When, unable to overtake him, with curses at Murphy’s 
defection, Alcorn returned, he was so enraged that he 
could have strangled the woman gazing defiantly at 
him. But, while he hated, he admired her. He admired 
her even more than he hated her, as with brutality 
in face and tone, he said : “ Kathrine Gordon, I shall 
take this ledge — quietly, if I can ; brutally, if I must. 
You can not stand between me and my rights. Give up 
this stupid opposition, and I will do something handsome by 
you — even marry you, vixen as you are. Do you suppose 
I am fool enough to let you go back to camp except as 
mine ? Bound by that which no law can break ? Do you 
imagine I would put my life and reputation in your hands 
unless you belong to me? You are in my power. No 
possible help can reach you. Yield to me and I’ll swear to 
treat you well. Resist, and sure as we two stand alone on 
this mountain side there will only be one living at daybreak. 
Quick, your answer ! ” 


128 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ My answer ! ” and Kathrine’s indignant arms raised the 
pick with nervous swing directly above his head. He 
sprang back and gazed at her, while demoniacal passions 
filled his breast. Despite his hate, he felt that for her which 
would hold as small the cost of possessing her. She should 
be his. In her rage her beauty shone resplendent. Her 
eyes were like fire. Her dark brows meeting in a heavy 
frown, and the scarlet lips curled in scorn, showed the white 
teeth clinched together. The pick held high above her 
head, in the strong clasp of both hands, was ready for 
action. She looked like some beautiful fury. So terrible, 
so strong. 

Looking at her, he shook with the violence of his rage 
and passion. Looking at her, he swore to his soul, that 
either she should be his, or lie a corpse at his feet ! Then 
with cold measured tones he spoke. • 

“You’re a devil. But I can laugh at you, while I have 
this.” He raised his revolver and took deliberate aim at 
her. “ I shall count three. If before the last number you 
have not come to my terms I shall fire, and I never miss 
my mark. But in death you shall have one consolation. 
I’ll bury you near this ledge, and no one will know how you 
died.” 

Kathrine did not answer. With eyes fixed upon him, she 
stood ready to spring aside and bring her pick down on his 
head as he called three. She was filled with a fury akin to 
madness. In the tumult of her soul, there was not room for 
prayer. Her life depended on a spring, and every nerve 
was strained to its utmost tension. 

“ Woman, will you answer ? ” 

Kathrine’s lips were motionless. 

“ One.” The word rang out on the frosty air, and the 
echoes took it up. 

“ Two.” Silence. Alcorn’s face grew more fiendish. 


“ THE DEFENSE OF THE * MONSTER'. 


129 


Steadying his hand he took surer aim. But as with 
finger on the trigger, his lips framed the word “ three/' 
there seemed to spring from the earth the huge form of Si 
Doone, and at his side, bright, handsome Bob. 

The young fellow dashed the pistol from Alcorn’s hand, 
and striking him in the face, said : “ Knave ! Coward ! who 
attacks and murders women.” 

“ Now, Bob,” interposed Si, “ don’t be too hard on the 
captain. Poor Cap ! Miss Kathrine and us has played a 
joke on yer, Cap, as yer ’ll enjoy, when yer hears it. This 
here ledge is Miss Kathrine’s, beyond a chance. It’s too 
bad, Cap, but yer can’t touch it. Miss Gordon has put in 
thirteen days’ hard work. And me and Bob has done 
twenty. We sank on the shaft, and got down some ten feet. 
Our work we has had recorded, and here’s the copy of the 
record, as we has brought with us. Jest ter give yer a 
pleasure, Cap. We thought as how yer might doubt our 
words, bein’ as yer are so little acquainted with the truth.” 

Amazed, Alcorn looked from one to the other. Kathrine 
had dropped the pick, and stood motionless. Bob’s blue 
eyes were fixed on him in anger. And Si, holding toward 
him a paper which, in the bright moonlight, he could see 
was what he claimed it to be, seemed just the same great 
hulk of good nature and strength that he had left quietly 
sitting in the saloon not three hours ago ! Was it all under- 
stood between them, and was he the dupe ? He couldn’t 
believe it ! And yet how could it be otherwise ? 

Almost strangled with rage, he took the paper, while Si, 
with an exaggeration of politeness, kept lighting matches 
and holding them near, “ so the sweet Cap might see each 
word ! ” He read the paper through carefully, although 
the letters were dancing before his eyes. Yes, it was all 
correct. There was the recorder’s signature. He was 
defeated. 


130 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


He turned to Kathrine and, raising his hat, bowed grace- 
fully. “ As one of your well-wishers, Miss Gordon, allow 
me to congratulate you.” And then, without noticing the 
others, went down the trail. 

He was so full of rage that he had gone some little dis- 
tance before missing his revolver. He stopped, hesitated, 
half turned to go back, and then went on. 

“ I will not go back. It is gone. Lost in the snow. 
Curse them, curse them ! I wish I had power to strike 
them dead. I wish I had killed that girl. Fool ! Idiot ! 
to stand looking at her blazing eyes, instead of laying her a 
corpse at my feet.” 

He stopped and beat his hands against a tree, struck him- 
self in rage, ground his teeth and frothed at the mouth in a 
passion, disgusting as it was fearful. 

Woe, woe to the human life that should, at this moment, 
cross the path of this human wolf, as with little of humanity 
about him, he dashed down the mountain side ! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


“ THE GLAD NEW YEAR." 

I T was well for Si’s comfort that Alcorn did not return, for 
he would have been gratified by seeing the two men 
bending anxiously over Kathrine’s inanimate form. While 
Nell, who through all the trying scene, had been crouching 
near her mistress, was whining and licking her cold face. 

The fatigue of the past days, the night’s terrible excite- 
ment, and the unexpected deliverance, had been too much, 
even for Kathrine, and as Alcorn disappeared, she had 
fallen senseless to the ground. 

“ Poor little gal, she’s a plucky one ! " said Si, pityingly, 
as with gentle touch he smoothed back her hair and rubbed 
the cold hands. 

“ She’s clean gone ! What are we to do now, Bob ? " he 
asked, after a little. 

Bob was ready with ideas and help. Opening his flask 
he poured a little of the liquor it contained through the 
closed teeth, and bidding Si bring her to the tunnel, he went 
on ahead to start up the fire. Obedient to the word of 
command, Si lifted Kathrine as though she had been an 
infant, and followed Bob’s lead. 

In the tunnel Bob had the fire burning and a pallet of the 
blankets ready. When Si laid Kathrine down, the two men 
took off their coats to cover her, and Bob soon had a hot 
drink ready for her. Turning to offer it, he found the dark 
eyes watching him. 

Kathrine was conscious— exhausted, but quite herself. 


1 3 2 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


She tried to thank these two friends who had saved not only 
her life, but what was more prized ; but the tears that welled 
up to her eyes spoke more eloquently than words. 

“ Now, missy, don’t yer say no more ter us. It’s Mrs. 
Merilton and little Harry as did the whole thing,” said Si. 

Then in simple words he told the story of the birthday 
gift and its dedication. 

“ And, miss,” Si went on, “ so feared was Mrs. Merilton 
of doing suthin ter hurt your feelin’s that Bob and me was 
bound not ter tell you nothin’ ’bout it, unless some devil 
should try ter rob you. I know’d in all this camp there 
was only one man as would even think of such a mean, low 
trick ; and all day I’ve kep’ closer ter that man than ef he’d 
been my twin brother. When about 1 1 at night (we was 
all settin’ warm and snug around the saloon stove) I missed 
the villain, I jest know’d where he’d gone, so I hurried arter 
Bob, and we come along quick. But we wasn’t a bit too 
soon. We met that fellow Murphy down to bottom o’ the 
mountain. He was a-kneelin’ in the sand, and a-crossin’ 
himself as ef he was in church. He looked awful scared, and 
said : ‘ Ef yer wants ter help that young leddy yer’d better 
hurry. Ef ye’s don’t get there soon she’ll be past any help 
but God’s.’ Then we come all the faster. But I kep’ think- 
in’ as I corned, as how Murphy seemed to feel himself very 
intermit with God. Cool, in a coward like him ! Who hadn’t 
the pluck ter help a gal himself, but jest left her ter God.” 

While Si was talking, Bob brought Kathrine the warm 
drink. “ Take it, Miss Gordon. Ef yer don’t yer’ll be 
sick, with the worry and the cold,” Bob said kindly, as 
Bob always spoke to those he liked. 

It warmed her quickly and made her sleepy. Si’s voice 
and the crackling of the fire became strangely intermingled, 
' the figures of the two men grew more and more indistinct — 
she slept. 


“ THE GLAD NEW YEAR. 


133 


Bob and Si kept up the fire, walking up and down to 
keep warm, for their coats were still covering the sleeping 
girl, and they watched over her until the sky was red with 
the new-born day. 

A new year was beginning for the world. Si threw his 
arm around Bob’s shoulders as they stood watching the 
glorious beauty of sunrise in the mountains ; and Kathrine, 
wakening from her deep, refreshing slumber, saw the two 
figures standing there together, while the sun made a halo 
around them. 

She rose quietly, feeling, except for a little stiffness, quite 
as well as ever ; and filled with thankfulness for the bless- 
ings that like flowers were springing up around her. 

Hearing her light step the two men turned and grasped 
her outstretched hands. For the first time she noticed that 
they were without their coats. With heart and eyes filling, 
she brought the coats to their owners. 

“Friends, I thank you.” It was all she could say. Her 
life for years had been barren of all that makes life beauti- 
ful, but now it seemed to be as full of light as the valley 
that lay smiling before her. 

The sun was just stealing down the canyon and brighten- 
ing the top of Eliza’s house as Kathrine, after stabling 
Frank, gently opened her cabin door. 

Mr. Gordon was sound asleep in bed. Faithful Tom, 
sitting upright in a chair at his side, was sound asleep too. 
She laughed softly to herself, made the fire, cooked the 
breakfast, and not until every thing was ready to be served, 
did the two men awaken. Tom gave a start, tried to look as 
if he had been awake all the time, and then hung his head, 
when he saw Miss Gordon, and knew she had caught him 
napping. 

“ Happy New Year, Tom ! ” she said, with a bright 
smile. 


134 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ Well, miss ; ” and he laughed ; “ I didn’t mean ter do 
it. I jest fell off without a-knowin’ it.” 

Then she gave him a bright smile, “ I’ll look after Frank, 
while you and father make ready for breakfast,” she said, 
still smiling. 

When she returned she found her father in the best of 
humors, and both Tom and himself with the best of appe- 
tites for her simple breakfast. 

As soon as the curtains in Eliza’s room were looped back, 
Kathrine hastened to see her friend, with something in 
her hand that she had been busily writing. Harry saw her 
coming, and as usual ran to meet her. 

“ Happy New Year, Kath ! ” he said joyously. Standing 
in her doorway, Eliza’s face matched his, in sweet, rosy 
bloom. She, too, held a paper in her hand. 

“ A letter from Owen. He is in high spirits. The money 
has all been subscribed, and now he only waits the arrival 
of papers from his partners to incorporate the company, 
collect the money, buy a stock of merchandise and mining 
supplies ! Then he will start for home at once and settle 
down to regular mining business — and success. Oh ! the 
glad New Year ! ” Kathrine took her hand. 

“ I am so thankful for you, so thankful to you,” she said. 
Eliza, who knew nothing of what had occurred, divin- 
ing what Katharine was about to say, the lovely head 
drooped, and the sweet face blushed rosy red, as if she were 
ashamed of her own goodness, as Kathrine pressed her 
close to her heart — that passionate, loving, longing heart ; 
murmuring : “ You have saved my mine for me. You and 
Harry. And, Harry ; ” holding out the folded paper ; “ I 
have deeded you a fourth, so we are partners. I will have 
the deed recorded to-morrow.” 

“Partners! Oh, mamma, isn’t that jolly? Kath and I 
are partners. And I own a mine ! ” 


THE GLAD NEW YEAR. 


135 


He pranced around the room in high delight, nearly up- 
setting Miss Baby, as he ran to tell Em of his good for- 
tune ; while little Hannah trotting after him called as loudly 
as her baby voice could call : 

“ Me yuant un too ! Me yuant un too ! ” 

“ Kathrine,” Eliza’s soft brown eyes looked reproachfully 
at her, “ you are too proud to accept a service from a 
friend ! ” 

“ Not too proud, dear, but so happy, so thankful ; and 
oh, so weary of my loneliness ! I can not be alone, ever 
again. I must bind you to me, and me to you. With Harry 
as partner in the ‘ Monster,’ we can not well be parted. 
At first, you see I own to the meanness of my nature, I was 
disappointed that I had failed to hold this ledge myself. 
I fail in most things, and for most things despise myself. 
And it has been a pride with me that I have kept this ledge 
through my own labor and efforts. But even as I felt this, 
you came before me in all your sweetness ; — and I, who 
believe in God, could not refuse a gift from one of His 
angels.” And stooping, Kathrine tenderly kissed Mrs. 
Merilton’s cheek. 

The two women were deeply moved. They had grown 
into each other’s hearts. It even seemed that the tender 
friendship between them had been a life’s affection, for love 
acknowledges no time. When true, it becomes a part of 
existence. 

“ Happy New Year, Miss Kath,” Em bobbed her smiling 
face in at the door. “ Coming in to listen, Miss Kath,” as 
holding Eliza’s hand, Kathrine gave them a humorous 
account of her night’s experience, of the opportune arrival 
of Si and Bob, and of the rage of the baffled captain. 

“ I wish I could a seed him,” said Em, laughing heartily. 
And then all laughed, for their ills were past, and past ills 
seem light. Ah ! they were a happy party and the day so 


136 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


bright, that presently, despite the snow, Eliza proposed a 
walk to Nellie Stuart’s home. 

“ I’ve heard nothing from her since Christmas, so I suppose 
she must be doing well. But still I feel anxious,” she said. 

“ Now, Miss ’Liza, you jest look out. Last night I 
dreamed I seed two black horses a-tearin’ along.” And 
Em nodded her head, big with mystery. 

“Black horses! Did they have white feet like Uncle 
William’s ? ” interrupted Harry, always interested when 
horses were mentioned. 

“ Now, Harry, chile, don’t you ’terrupt me while I tells 
your mamma. Yes, Miss ’Liza, dey was jest a-tearin’ down 
the road, and dat’s a sign of sudden news.” 

As from Eliza’s earliest memory, she had always found 
Em ready with a dream, whose sign was generally “ sudden 
news,” she was not as much startled as she might have been, 
so, hiding a smile, she answered: “Well, Em, I hope 
it won’t be bad news.” Then Kathrine hurrying down the 
trail to her cabin to make ready for the walk, the first 
disappointment of the day came, as, opening the cabin door, 
she met her father. 

He was just starting out, looked remarkably well, and 
seemed vexed that she had returned so soon. 

“I thought Tom was with you,” she said. “ I did not 
know you were alone.” To which he replied peevishly : 

“ Alone ! I’m glad to be alone sometimes. Don’t you 
suppose I want a little freedom ? ” Then, in a softer tone, 
“ I thought I’d go down to see the boys. They’ve been so 
kind, it’s only right to show that I appreciate it.” 

“ When shall I prepare dinner ? ” Her voice was very 
gentle, but her heart was beating quickly. She knew that 
going “ to see the boys ” meant that he was to spend the 
day in the saloon, over the gaming table, if he should be 
allowed to play again. 


“ THE GLAD NEW YEAR. 


137 


"Well, Kath, you needn’t trouble yourself to-day for me. 
I’ll probably take dinner with the boys,” said her father. 
With a nervous little laugh he went out, and as he closed 
the door he sighed, relieved. He had feared a scene, some 
demonstration, and perhaps reproaches, from his daugh- 
ter, and the fear had made him nervous. But she took 
quietly enough, this return to his old ways. “ Oh, good 
God ! ” he said, half aloud, “ can a man hang forever 
about the house, listening to a woman’s twaddle ? ” And 
so, excusing himself even to his own conscience, Gordon 
walked down the road, feeling the exhilaration of once more 
being free from pain, and his own master. The first person 
who saw him was Alcorn, who was very pale and looked 
really ill. As he stood idly watching the clouds of snow 
the wind whirled by, he was muttering to himself. He 
brightened as he saw Gordon walking briskly toward the 
saloon, brightened into a malicious humor, saying under 
his breath : “ I’ll hurt her through him. Curse her ! ” 

Smiling graciously, he went to meet the old man, holding 
out his hand, which Mr. Gordon grasped eagerly. “ Gordon, 
glad to see you ! Come in. Let’s drink.” He passed his 
hand through Gordon’s arm, and together they turned 
toward the saloon, while Lieblin, the storekeeper, and Potts, 
the butcher, who were standing near, wagged their heads. 
“ Old fool ! He’s as deep in Alcorn’s power as ever he 
was,” said Potts. 

And Lieblin half whispered : 

“ Ah ! Cap Alcorn is a verra shmart veller. He knows 
shust how to manage de oders.” Then both, with the 
semblance of cordiality, walked over to greet the old man. 

“ Veil, Mister Gordon,” said Lieblin, a rather good-look- 
ing young man, of the inferior order of Jew. “Ve ish 
verra glat to see you vonce more in healt. Cap, too. 
Heish been verra vorried about your health.” 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


138 

Mr. Potts, tall and lean, beamed with kindliness, and 
gave the “ old fool,” as he had called him, a hearty hand 
shake. 

“ Join us, friends,” said Alcorn, “ we are going to drink 
to Gordon’s long life and health.” 

After the friendly (?) glass cards were proposed, and they 
began to play. The old man’s head was not yet free from 
its bandage, but he seemed to have forgotten about his 
injury, as, finding himself the center of attraction, he looked 
no further than-the surface, and felt happier than since he 
had fallen into poverty. 

Kathrine watched him as he went down the road. She 
saw the meeting between him and Alcorn, and then Potts 
and Lieblin crossing over to greet him. 

“ Hypocrites ! They all despise and ridicule him. Yet, 
now, they choose to flatter an old man’s weakness.” Invol- 
untarily her lip curled, and despite her earnest resolve to 
cherish love for her father, she felt the old contempt coming 
back. 

“ Mother ! mother ! ” she cried, with clasped hands and 
upraised eyes, as if that beloved spirit were glorifying the 
shabby little room, and looking down upon her. “Teach 
my wicked heart your own unselfish devotion. Let me 
grow more like you, whom I love — you, whose love for me 
has kept me from starving, these weary years.” 

The calm that fell upon her troubled heart seemed 
the answer to this cry for help. Who dare say that dead 
mothers do not watch over their offspring ? Lifted far 
above this world of sin, seeing with heaven-cleared eyes 
the necessity of each fresh trial, yet loving with infinite 
tenderness what they gave unto earthly care ? May not 
they seek to give some comfort to sorrowing hearts ? May 
not their angel arms, unseen, fold to their breasts these 
children, these parts of themselves ? It is all mystery ] 


THE GLAD NEW YEAR . 


139 


*< 


And Katharine felt that heaven would be no heaven for her, 
unless she had her mother. 

Years ago she had said this to the good old priest, who 
had tried to comfort the heart-broken girl, watching beside 
the dead body of her mother. To him it seemed but right 
that mother and child, so bound together, should meet in 
that world beyond. As time rolled on, changing the impetu- 
ous girl irfto the proud, reserved, but no less impetuous 
woman, this sense of nearness to her mother had kept her 
from anger and hate, and had made her life a noble sacri- 
fice. It helped her now to conquer. The sight of Eliza 
and the children coming down the trail hastened Kathrine’s 
preparations. “ A family party once more,” said Eliza, 
smiling. The wind was high, but the sky clear, and they 
were all enjoying their walk. Even Eliza, who since Owen’s 
departure had become very frail in appearance, was full of 
laughter and happiness, for Owen would soon be at home ! 
This tender flower, that had been drooping in loneliness, 
revived at the bare promise of the sunshine growing again 
into her. They had passed the turn and were ascending 
the mountain trail, when running rapidly toward them came 
a young man. 

It was young Stuart, Eleanor’s husband. 

Tears were streaming from his eyes, and catching Mrs. 
Merilton’s hand, he cried : 

“ Oh, come to my wife ! She is dying and asks for you. 
Come, for God’s sake ! Save her, and I will be a good and 
true husband to her.” Poor human nature ! Ever ready 
with its promises for the future ! Atoning thus for past 
neglect, as did this young husband. He now, however, spoke 
to one who sympathized and did not preach ; did not use 
the hour of his pain to give a moral, or point a lesson. 

“ Certainly, I will go at once. I am sorry for you,” 
Mrs. Merilton answered. Her color had faded, leaving 


140 A PLVCKY ONE. 

her pale as a lily. So pale that Em began to mutter to 
herself : 

“ She’ll jest make herself sick, dat’s what Miss 'Liza’ll 
do,” muttered the old woman, as her mistress spoke to her 
son. 

“ Harry, darling, go back with Em and baby. You would 
not keep mamma from the sick girl,” she added, as the 
little fellow’s lips quivered. 

He, too, had to bear his share of humanity’s curse, and a 
child’s disappointment is no trifle to the childish heart. But 
the manly little fellow would not give up before his mother; 
so with : 

“Yes, mamma, you go, I’ll take my New Year’s to-mor- 
row,” he ran homeward, sobbing as if his heart would break, 
and left Em to follow more slowly. 

“ I know’d it ! Dat dream o’ mine ! Suthin was sure 
ter come,” said the old woman, shaking her head, while 
baby stared in great appreciation of her nurse’s gift of 
divination. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


“ I HAVE SINNED.” 

K ATHRINE and Eliza hurried on to the little cabin and 
the sick girl. They found the room full of men and 
women, but there was no smoking and no loud talking. 

The restless figure, tossing on the bed and moaning, and 
the occasional cry of the eight days’ old baby, were the only 
sounds that broke the stillness. The air was close and 
oppressive and the sunlight streaming in the little window 
fell full on the face of the dying girl. 

The glassy eyes opened wide, yet took no note of passing 
objects. Her lips, purpled with fever, were drawn in pain, 
and her breath came in quick, short gasps. Barely con- 
scious as she seemed, she held out her arms when Mrs. 
Merilton drew near. 

“ I have longed for your voice. It was like music in my 
ears,” she whispered. When Eliza would have held on her 
breast the girl’s hot head that could not rest for a moment, 
the parched lips moved again. 

“ No, no. At your feet. For I have sinned, I have 
sinned.” 

Poor Magdalen ! By thy loving heart thou hast erred. 
But thou art more beautiful in thy repentance, higher in 
thy shame, than all the self-righteous, praise-loving Pharisees- 
So Eliza felt, as exerting all her strength she clasped her in 
her arms and with cool fingers soothed her burning head. 
Lying quietly enough now, looking at Mrs. Merilton with 
half-closed eyes, she murmured : 


142 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ At last I am at peace," and fell into a doze. Eliza’s 
arms were trembling with the terrible strain, but she would 
not move. What might not this sleep do for the poor 
mother ! So, holding her fast to her gentle breast, she 
prayed for the sufferer, “ Save her for her baby’s sake ! ’’ 

But it was not to be. Waking with a sudden scream of 
pain, the girl passed into terrible agonies. Starting up in 
bed, clutching at her heart, with the death sweat passing 
down her face, the mother’s love rose above her torture. 

“ Husband," she said in husky whispers ; “ save my child 
from this camp. Bring him up a good man ! And oh," 
her voice broke into sobs, “ don’t let him know what will 
shame him in his mother, for my sin was loving you too 
well. Give me my baby. Let me feel his soft face." The 
old nurse put the infant to the mother’s fast chilling breast 
as she lay dying, without priest or doctor, without help for 
soul or body, and yet with the brightness of a noble nature 
showing through the clouds of ignorance and sin. 

Dipping her hand in the water with which she had been 
moistening the parched lips, Eliza pronounced the solemn 
words of baptism ; and then falling on her knees, her voice 
rose in supplication for that soul nearing the Eternal Waters. 
And the awe that accompanies death was upon every one in 
the little room as in silence Eleanor Stuart was passing 
away. 

Clasping her hand, with face buried in her pillow, was the 
husband, for whose sake her dying hour was imbittered by 
remorse. He was grieving now and wondering at the self- 
ishness that had accepted such a sacrifice from her. Gaz- 
ing at her were those whose cruel words had stabbed her 
many a time. But she was beyond them now. 

Poor, soiled dove ! Surely her repentance had washed 
away the stains, and she would fly to God’s bosom. Hold- 
ing her baby close in her arms, she started up as if to walk. 


“/ HAVE SINNED. 


Her eyes were filled with that wonder that comes but to the 
dying. Her lips parted in a smile — and she was gone. 

“ I wish I were as sure of heaven as I believe she is," 
Kathrine said in a low voice, and the crowd looked on, not 
comprehending. How could the woman they hated for her 
pride hold herself lower than poor Eleanor Stuart ? Their 
shallow natures could not understand the greatness of true 
repentance. Perhaps on the morrow they would be repeat- 
ing with coarse laughter her beautiful confession : 

“ I have sinned ! " 

That confession in its holy shame had to Kathrine lifted 
the poor sinner far above her own spotless life. This was 
beyond their narrow minds, and already they had passed 
from the momentary awe of the dying. Already they were 
chatting about something that interested them. She was 
dead, all was over, and now for the funeral ! They had 
begun to discuss it in loud whispers, as Eliza, half fainting, 
was led by Kathrine into the fresh air. 

To their surprise they found that night had fallen. So, 
as soon as Eliza felt a little better, they hastened homeward 
arm in arm that the stony way might be made easier for 
Eliza. “ Kathrine," she said, “ I shall always blame myself 
for knowing so little of medicine. I, who for years have 
lived with my brother, a most skilled doctor, might have 
saved this poor girl’s life had I used my opportunities." 

“Dear friend, her hour had come! And, for herself, 
could she have gone at a fitter moment ? She was filled 
with noble aspirations, yet could she have held to them sur- 
rounded by the ridicule which they would have awakened 
in her own class ? Ignorant, untaught, she spoke with the 
poetry of a fine nature. Yet what could her future be ? Of 
a loving disposition, she was bound by that very character 
to those who could not understand her. Dying, she has 
reached heaven, if there be a heaven. Living, she would 


144 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


have fallen to a lower place.” “ But the poor little baby ? ” 
answered Eliza. Yes, the poor baby. As this pitiful little 
waif rose before Kathrine’s mind the tears came to her eyes, 
her reasoning was over, cut short by one of the ever recur- 
ring, cruel and unreasonable facts of nature. Why that 
poor little life should be left to the unequal struggle that 
had been too much for its mother, was more than human 
hearts could comprehend. We live among what seem to 
our understanding, bitter wrongs. Our hearts daily cry out 
to the Unseen, the great All-Powerful, for help and protec- 
tion, from what we feel never should have been. Will all 
these be explained in the world beyond ? Will there be a 
compensation for unmerited sufferings ? So questioned 
Kathrine, but she would speak no word to hurt the tender 
Christian soul at her side. So they walked on in silence, 
until the lights in Eliza’s house shone in the distance, like 
twinkling stars. 

Kathrine had said good-night to her friends, and, sitting, 
before the fire, while its red light fell on her beautiful face; 
was waiting for her father. She was thinking of the dead 
girl, of her unselfish life, her trial and her death ! And 
then of the careless, thoughtless, but certainly, so far as they 
were themselves concerned, gay lives of her sisters. They 
were utterly regardless of all that was best in life ; laugh- 
ing at religion, feeling no compunction for wrong-doing, 
incapable of stronger sentiment than momentary spite and 
anger ! Were they not more comfortable than she whose 
life was darkened by her one sin ? 

“ For my part,” and her lips curled in scorn, while the 
dark eyes were filled with tears of sympathy, “ I think this 
we call soul but opens the sluice gates of sorrow. The 
more callous we are, the less we suffer.” 

Just then she heard a shuffling, uncertain step outside, a 
fumbling at the knob, and opened the door as her father 


“ I HAVE SINNED” I45 

reeled in. She placed a chair for him and turned aside her 
face, filled with shame and sorrow. 

She was feeling the gift of her soul — suffering. Look- 
ing in the noble face of his daughter, as without a word she 
helped him to bed, Mr. Gordon said with a drunken laugh : 

“ You’re a real good girl, Kath. I had a real good time. 
Alcorn’s a trump. Wish I may die if he ain’t.” 

Then finding himself comfortably fixed, he rolled over in 
bed, and in a few moments was snoring heavily in a drunken 
sleep. She could not look at him, she was so ashamed of 
his degradation. And this was her New Year 1 


CHAPTER XX. 


A FUNERAL IN CETEWAYO, 



LL the next morning there was a great hammering going 


ii on in the town, hammering that sounded loud and 
clear, for these canyons are almost like whispering galleries 
in their peculiar carrying of sounds. At the tap-tap of the 
hammer Kathrine shuddered. They were making the coffin 
for Nellie Stuart. 

“ They are hurrying to put her in the grave, excited, as 
if it were a feast and not the burial of a young and tender 
heart,” she murmured, as from her cabin window she looked 
down upon the passing and repassing of men, women and 
children in the usually quiet square of the dull camp. 

At noon young Stuart appeared to ask Mrs. Merilton to 
the funeral. The young man seemed overpowered with 
grief. However transient the feeling might be, he was 
truly sorrowing for the dead wife who had so loved him. 

“She is to be buried at 2 o’clock,” he said, sobbing un- 
restrainedly. 

Mrs. Merilton tried to speak a few words of comfort, but 
he only bowed his head, weeping more bitterly, her gentle 
tears of sympathy falling for him as she said solemnly : 

“ She was a noble-hearted girl, and has I believe gone to 
a better world. But, Mr. Stuart, she has left you a sacred 
legacy — the little baby.” 

“ Yes, the baby.” He stood up and grasped the hand 
she extended, while his eyes shone with hope. “ I have 
something to live for. I thank you, ma’am, for reminding 


A FUNERAL AT CETEWAYO. 


147 


me of Nellie’s baby. I — I shall try to be a better man for 
his sake. Good-by.” 

He hurried down the trail, still weeping, but no longer 
without motive for life. 

“ He may be weak, but he is good at heart,” Mrs. Meril- 
ton said, a few minutes later, when Kathrine had come to 
go with her to the funeral. 

“ Of what use is goodness if allied to weakness ? ” she 
replied. Then she checked her bitterness ; she chided her- 
self for lack of charity, as, once more, seeking to make the 
walk less trying to Mrs. Merilton, they went to the little 
cabin up the gulch. 

The one room of the cabin was crowded, all were admir- 
ing the “ style ” with which the coffin had been decorated, 
and the “ fixin’s,” round the dead. There was a general 
movement when Mrs. Merilton entered. Those who had 
met her, returning the bow she gave to them all generally ; 
and the others, to whom she was a stranger, watching her 
with curiosity while she bended over the dead girl, kissing 
her cold cheek. How calm she looked ! 

Kathrine envied her her sleep, thinking how much better 
it was to lie there, in peace, or even oblivion, than to live, 
with incessant pressing care ; to battle in the unequal, 
heart wearying struggle, called life. But in the mountains 
a funeral does not allow time for meditation, so Kathrine 
moved aside, and after a little bustling, some loud whisper- 
ing, the coffin lid was fastened, the body carried out, while 
young Stuart followed, sobbing like a heart-broken boy. 
He was little else, poor fellow, leaning his head on the 
shoulder of his father-in-law as they sat together in a wagon 
following the one that acted as hearse. 

Slowly over the mountain passed the funeral train of 
country wagons, with the people decked in their gayest 
attire. A decorous silence was preserved until the grave. 


148 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


yard was reached. It was a dreary spot, very rocky, 
exposed to all the violence of the winds, its earth but lay- 
ers of rock. The grave was ready, yawning for its prey ; 
the pile of rock at the side, waiting to press down the dead 
girl, made Eliza shudder, as she stood near. The part of 
minister was taken by an old man, looking surprised at his 
position. He mumbled a few words over the coffin, and it was 
lowered to its place. But while the hard rocks were rolling 
on it with a hollow, blood-chilling sound, and before the 
gap made for this poor body was half-filled, the people 
jumped into wagons, and, led by the sisters of the dead girl, 
began a race down the mountain road, their laughter borne 
back by the breeze, mingling strangely with the sobs of the 
young husband. Eliza, sickened by such heartlessness, 
sank on her knees, and leaned her head on Kathrine’s 
breast. Had they human hearts, these people ? 

Days passed on and still Owen did not come. His letters 
had grown vague, and unsatisfactory, and annoyances 
thickened. The wood suit, which he had believed post- 
poned, and about which Eliza rested content, came to trial, 
and without a witness for the defense, went against them 
by default. When she opened the county papers this ten- 
der heart was wounded by seeing the name she most loved 
branded as a debtor. 

Numberless squibs were printed in the different journals ; 
all aimed at her husband’s honor. They were senseless 
little notices, repetitions of idle gossip ; written, perhaps, 
without malice, just to gratify the public craving for scan- 
dal. But what pain they inflicted ! what cruel use of power, 
when the press tells a falsehood, not to one, but thousands 
of readers : and wounds some heart, as it now wounded 
the heart of this tender woman ! Finally there came news 
from Owen, which was almost a death blow to his wife — he 
was going to Europe for several months. After keeping 


A FUNERAL AT CETEWA YO. 


149 


him waiting for all these weeks, his partners refused to sign 
the papers agreed on. So the money contributed for the 
mining venture had to be returned ; explanations made ; 
and Owen, without capital, could do nothing in Cetewayo. 

At this juncture his friend, Mr. Howell, had offered him 
a lucrative position, to go with him to England and settle 
some business matters. 

“ It is purely money considerations that make me go. 
What can I do without capital ? It will not be for long, 
darling, and I will write you regularly. But even with the 
absolute necessity of making some money, I can not go with- 
out your consent. This letter will reach you in ten days. T wo 
days more will be required for you to send me a telegram from 
Hamilton. I have told my friend that I await your decision. 
If you say ‘ Go,’ we will leave by the first steamer. If 
* Stay,’ I will refuse the opportunity, and what I will then 
do to raise money, God knows.” 

She sat holding this letter, reading and re-reading it, in a 
dazed sort of way. Owen had barely alluded to the loss of 
the wood suit. “Too bad, dear, but we’ll make Alcorn 
sorry he ever swore falsely against us,” was all he said. 

And this wood suit had made her miserable ! 

Ah ! what a wide difference between living amid injus- 
tice, and at a distance, where other interests crowd round, 
and stifle its rumors. But now this fresher grief absorbed 
her. 

She knew what answer she must make to Owen’s letter, 
for she could not stand between him and his interests. So 
she had taken pen and paper to write the telegram, feeling 
she was signing her own death warrant. When Em came 
in to get her mail she started back at sight of her mis- 
tress’s face. 

“ For de Lord’s sake, Miss ’Liza, what’s de matter ? Yo’re 
white like de wall.” 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


150 

“ Mr. Merilton is obliged to go to Europe. He will not 
return for some months.” She spoke very quietly. Em 
knew how she suffered, and hurried back to the kitchen, 
where her own tears poured down her good old face for 
“ pore Miss ’Liza.” “ I jest wish she’d written to Mars 
William for de money Mars Owen needs.” But Em knew 
she couldn’t. She knew Mars Owen would not have allowed 
it. Faithful old soul that she was, she kept sacred each family 
secret. She knew that there had passed some not very 
agreeable words between Dr. Knowlton and Owen. Many 
years Owen’s senior, and standing in the light of father to 
Eliza, the doctor had felt justified in opposing Owen’s de- 
termination to sell his property and put every thing in a 
mine, and had stated his opposition with force and frank- 
ness. 

There had been some discussion between them the day 
Owen had asked Eliza if she would go with him or remain 
with her friends in Virginia. 

Dr. Knowlton had said “ that a married man had no right 
to risk his all in a speculation ; and mining was but a 
speculation on the probable results of what was hidden in 
the ground. That Eliza had been too tenderly reared, and 
was too delicately organized to stand a rough, Western 
life. Sympathy and companionship were as necessary to 
her as food to hardier natures. That he was doing his 
children an injustice to give up a business which was a cer- 
tainty, for an uncertain better.” 

Owen, feeling the longed-for fortune within his grasp, 
had resented what he called “ William’s calm superiority,” 
and had told his brother-in-law that he considered himself 
the best judge of what was for his children’s good. As for 
his wife, when she had cause for complaint, he was quite 
willing she should appeal to her brother. 

Eliza had not heard the particulars of what had passed 


A FUNERAL AT CETEWAYO. 


between the two men who .were dearest to her. But Owen, 
after she had told him that she “ would go with him any- 
where,” had said to her : “ That really William was some- 
times unbearable. He was so dictatorial.” 

When, the last night she had spent in Virginia, her brother 
had put his arms around her, and in the tender manner he 
ever had for her, had said : “ Little sister, I fear Owen is 
too hot-headed, too impetuous, not to fall a prey to some 
designing knave. If this mining venture fails, remember I 
am your brother, and you are dearest to me of all the world. 
Write to me freely, and ask for any thing I have.” Then 
Eliza knew that there must have been some serious discus- 
sion between Owen and her brother. 

She, too, had thought of writing to William for a loan. 
He was rich and would gladly give her any thing. What 
were a few thousands to him, who had never denied her 
slightest wish ? — and a few thousands would do wonders 
with Kathrine’s ledge. 

But the momentary hope died within her. 

For before Owen’s departure for the East, she had urged 
him to let her write to her brother just how matters, were 
with them, and he had answered : “ My love, your brother is 
the last man in the world to whom I would show my empty 
purse. He told me I was mad to throw away my substance, 
and I’ve not yet fallen low enough to proclaim myself the 
fool he thinks me.” 

The handsome face was flushed with anger and his voice 
was hard as he replied to her entreaty. Even to serve him 
she could not displease her husband ! Therefore the appeal 
to her brother was not made. 

So she sent the telegram bidding Owen go, and with the 
meekness of an angel bowed to this great trial, consenting 
to her death. She felt it was this and yet she did not falter. 
To be in Cetewayo, with its snow-covered mountains, 


I 5 2 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


its shrieking winds, that awful oppression at her heart — and 
know that between her and her love would roar the mighty 
ocean ! 

“ Give me strength for my children’s sake," was the prayer 
of this most beautiful, most loving nature. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


“ woman’s heroism, woman’s pains.” 

D OES any one ever appreciate the magnitude of a mother’s 
quiet heroism ? 

She crushes back her cares and answers with a smile each 
trivial question. She brings sweet patience to each childish 
exaction, neglects no duty that makes home lovely and little 
ones happy ; and there come no murmurs, no complaints, 
from the sad, lonely heart. It is a heroism that passes un- 
noticed in the busy battle of life. 

But of all woman’s trials there are none to equal this quiet 
endurance, this agonizing waiting while sickening apprehen- 
sions feed upon the soul. 

Weary days succeeding weary days, and the wakeful hours 
of the night, when anxieties loomed up, unconquerable 
giants, made the inner history of Eliza’s life. Yet no out- 
ward expression of her pain escaped the sweet lips. 

The girlish figure became thinner and thinner, the fair 
skin paled to marble white, and to the brown eyes there 
came that far away, mysterious look which is not of this 
world. 

Anxieties were thickening, for since the letter announc- 
ing Owen’s arrival in Liverpool there had come no other. 
Thus this sheltered life was facing the storms, and bravely, 
too, protecting with tender love those other lives clinging 
to her own, helping every one around her. Horrors were 
increasing in the little camp. Close upon Nellie Stuart’s 
death, followed the finding of Murphy’s body in a ravine 


*54 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


near the trail that led to the Monster Mine. There were 
wounds on the neck, face and hands, and though he had 
been dead several days, the ground was still trampled as if 
there had been a struggle, and a rusty knife was lying near. 
But the old justice, not yet recovered from his New Year’s 
indulgences, called a jury and pronounced it “suicide.” 
He took his fee from Alcorn, who said, as he offered it : 
“ As the most intimate friend of the deceased and his 
truest mourner, permit me to discharge this duty for him.” 
Where the deceased’s particular duty lay in paying a man 
for calling him “ a suicide,” was not clearly seen. But the 
captain held most of the camp in perfect subjection, and, as 
he made his speech to the half-drunken justice, a murmur 
of applause went round the group of bystanders. Some of 
them even hastened to grasp Alcorn’s hand, as token of 
sympathy for the loss he had sustained. 

Si, who was passing, had stopped for a moment and 
looked at Alcorn. Until the verdict had been rendered, 
the captain’s face was very pale, and there was a tightening 
of the mouth, betokening extreme nervousness. 

“ He’s a quar looking mourner,” said Si to himself. The 
old fellow had felt sorry over Murphy’s death. Saying to 
Bob, as they sat in their cabin : 

“ Orful suddint, Bob. The Lord preserve us from the 
like/ Yet how would a feller die? When it comes, it 
comes, and we’s got ter meet it like men.” Still he had 
thought again and again of the young Irishman as he had 
last seen him, kneeling in the snow, praying and crossing 
himself. 

“ He was getting things a little fixed, but he didn’t know 
it, poor devil ! ” Si thought. 

In his own mind he had not a doubt that Alcorn was the 
murderer. But how could he prove it ? And to what pur- 
pose? The justice and his jury would acquit him in ten 


WOMAN'S HEROISM , WOMAN'S RAINS. 


*55 


minutes. So h’e had stopped on the outside of the group, 
out of curiosity to see how “ Cap would take it." He took 
it well, accepted the applause and hand shakes, as if they 
were his dues, smiling on those who crowded around him. 
Yet he despised the people who bowed down before him. 
He knew their falsity. But they were his necessary tools, 
and he never hesitated to use them. Even now, Si having 
gone on his way, and while Alcorn, with his arm in that of 
the justice, was walking leisurely toward the saloon, even 
now, the men whose unanimous verdict had settled poor 
Murphy’s fate were discussing the captain. But they were 
discussing him in whispers. 

“ They do say as how some squaws saw Cap, New Year’s 
morning, washing blood from his coat.’’ 

“ And one told my ole woman she seed Cap ‘ burning 
shirt, heap bloody.’ ” 

“ And didn’t yer notice as how he keeps his glove on his 
right hand?’’ Judging by these and like remarks, the 
jury’s mind seemed to differ from the jury’s verdict. 

Murphy’s death had a great effect on Kathrine. 

“I feel myself partly the cause of it,” she had said to 
Eliza. She brooded over it, adding thus to the gloom that 
darkened her life, and had it not been for Eliza, Kathrine’s 
existence would have been unendurable. 

For Captain Alcorn was fulfilling his threat. He was 
stabbing her through her father. 

The eyes that looked at him with such contempt often 
shed bitter tears over his work, as daily Mr. Gordon grew 
more and more estranged from his daughter, and with the 
healing of his wound, passed away all remembrance of her 
faithful nursing. 

He was more petulant than ever, sneering constantly at 
her new friends that made her “ neglect her home.” 

Neglect her home ! She was ever ready when he needed 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


156 

her. Every home duty was attended to, and with constant 
labor she contended with poverty ; but poverty no longer 
troubled him. 

Mr. Gordon, who had not worked for months, yet seemed 
to have plenty of money. He would jingle it in his 
pocket. Once, on counting out a little pile of gold pieces 
before her astonished eyes, he had said : 

“ I made all this through Alcorn. He’s had a raise, and 
is quite well of. Do you know he’s fond of you, and would 
marry you if you weren’t such a fool and so uncivil to him ? 
If you ever did any thing to please me I'd urge you to 
marry Cap, it would be so much for your interest. But 
I suppose- you won’t, so I might as well say nothing about 
it.” 

Her only answer was the silent scorn shining out from 
the dark eyes and every line of the graceful figure, as she 
stood proudly towering above him. 

“Well, you needn’t put on airs,” her father went on, 
tilting back his chair and looking up at her. “ Cap’s not 
likely to ask you. He’d be crazy to think of such a thing. 
A nice time he’d have with that temper of yours ! ” 

Kathrine, attending to her cooking, seemed not to hear 
him. With her shame had succeeded scorn — shame that a 
father would urge such a marriage ! Tired of her silence, 
Mr. Gordon went oh : 

“You needn’t cook for me. Thanks to this,” and he 
touched the gold, “ I can now eat where I please, and have 
cheerful faces to look at. It isn’t pleasant to dine off of 
potatoes and plain beef with a tragedy queen ! ” There was 
no answer. His sneers did not even arouse her anger. She 
was too full of shame to have room for other feeling. So 
Mr. Gordon whistled, brushed his hair, inspected his face in 
the little mirror, and started off. 

At the door he looked back at his daughter. She was . 


WOMAN'S HEROISM , WOMAN'S PAINS. 


r 57 


n 


bending over the stove, attending to homely duties ; but 
looking more queen than servant. 

His own child, yet he did not like her ! With her con- 
tempt for what pleased him most, her proud humility and 
unwearying patience, she was a constant, an annoying, 
puzzle to him. 

Still he felt uncomfortable. It was just for a moment, 
but he didn’t like to feel uncomfortable, so he said : 

“ Kath, you can have some of this money. Here’s five 
dollars. I’d like you to take it.” 

Her face flushed scarlet. Her first impulse was to take 
the money and dash it into the fire, for she would rather 
starve than take money won at a gambling table, and by 
the assistance of a knave like Alcorn. 

But her father meant his offer kindly ; and she had so 
little kindness from him, so she kept back her angry 
impulse, and answered quietly : 

“ No, thank you. I can earn all I need.” 

At this answer Mr. Gordon went on his way pleased with 
himself for his generosity, and equally pleased that it was 
not accepted. 

“ Is she made of stone or is she a devil ? ” he said to 
himself. Then for a moment he thought of her tenderness 
during his illness. These were thoughts, however, that 
were quickly banished by the excitements of the gaming 
table and by the liquor of which, urged by Alcorn, he par- 
took more and more freely each night. Each night, coming 
home late, he found his daughter waiting to assist him to 
his bed. Without a word of blame, and keeping within 
herself her scorn and contempt, she would have been 
driven to madness but for the light that shone on her from 
Eliza’s home. 

Si, too, had his troubles, which he brought for comfort to 
Eliza’s heart. He went regularly for her mail, and as 


153 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


regularly came to report “No letters to-night, missus, from 
England.” He would often wait and talk a little with Mrs. 
Merilton, looking at this fair, frail creature with admiring 
and pitying eyes. 

“ Ef I thought that Lieblin was a-keepin’ her letters, by 
golly, I’d choke ’em out o’ him,” he would think, when see- 
ing him empty handed, her eager look would change to a 
sad, most pitiful smile. 

Of late the old man had hardly spoken when he came, 
but sat with his head bowed down, as if oppressed 
with care. 

In all her own pain her heart felt for others, so Eliza 
asked : 

“ What is wrong with you, Si ? Can I help you ? ” 

“ Yes’m,” he answered. “ P’r’aps, missus, as how you’re 
the very one as can help me. Ef I may be so bold as to ax 
yer ter give me a moment, private and perticuler ? ” 

So« they left Em’s kitchen, and went into 'the sitting- 
room. Si sitting on the edge of a chair, with his hat 
between his feet and his hands on his knees, poured forth 
his trouble. “ That darned fool, Bob, the handsomest and 
best feller in the camp, has gone and got in love ! Him 
that I felt fer just as ef he was my own boy ! ” 

“ Why, Si,” answered Eliza, half smiling at the old man’s 
earnestness ; “ that isn’t so bad. If the girl’s a nice girl, 
you must not object, and we’ll give him a fine wedding.” 

“ Missus, don’t say that.” And the huge fellow looked 
as if he was to burst into tears. “ The gal’s not a nice 
gal. She is that hoodlum sister of poor Nellie Stuart. 
Pollie’s her name. She’s not a nice gal. Savin’ Miss 
Kathrine, there’s not a nice gal in the camp. Would a 
nice gal come up, day arter day, where two men’s a-workin’ 
and coax one on ’em off, jest ter get his money ? Would a 
nice gal pertend she liked a feller when she don’t like the 


“ WOMAN'S HEROISM , WOMAN'S RAINS. 


159 


feller at all, and jes’ goes and larfs at him with that sneak 
of a Lieblin ? And then comes up ter Bob, a-lookin’ in his 
eyes, and a-leanin’ against him, ’till the poor feller’s clean 
gone ! He’s got a little money an’ she knows it. That 
claim o’ our’n next Miss Gordon’s a good piece o’ ground. 
When we gets water we can rock out ten dollars any day. 
Ef she’d only take it all and leave him, I’d give her my 
share, too, and all the money I’ve saved ! But that darned 
fool, Bob, he’s stuck arter her, and means ter marry her. 
A hoodlum and nothin’ else ! A-goin’ out and leavin’ poor 
Nellie’s baby to cry its heart out ! And poor Stuart a 
drinkin' hisself to death, to drown his sorrows. That 
heartless gal to marry my Bob ! My handsome Bob, that a 
lady might ha’ loved.” 

The old man broke down and buried his face in his 
hands, and Eliza put her hand on his great shoulder in 
gentle, silent sympathy. 

“ Thank yer, missus, thank yer. Ah ! ef yer could know 
how I has thought o’ Bob’s futer. I alius thought as how 
some day he’d marry a nice gal who would love him, and 
how I’d give all I has, or ever could make, to a boy he’d 
name ‘ Si ’ fer me. And I’d have a home to go to when I 
was used up. Many’s the time I’ve sot and pictered what 
Bob’s wife 'ud be like, and the babby, named fer me ! I has 
thought o’ that little feller till I could a’most hear him cry. 
And now it’s all gone. Wife, babby and Bob’s happiness ! 
’Cause ef this hoodlum do marry him, it’ll only be fer his 
money. She don’t love him. She ain’t a-goin’ to be true 
ter him. An’ he’ll die o’ a broken heart, my Bob’s that 
tender like.” 

He put up his hand to brush away the tears that were 
rolling down his rugged cheeks. Eliza’s eyes were filled 
with tears of pity for him, and he saw them. 

“ ’Tain’t no use, missus, a-cryin’ fer me, I’s nothin' but a 


i6o 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


blubberin’ fool. But I jest gets ter be a babby when I thinks 
o’ what Bob’s life’ll be ef he marries that gal. It jest 
about breaks my heart ! ” 

“ Have you spoken to him, Si ? Does he know any thing 
about the girl ? ” 

“ Missus, ain't he got eyes ? Didn’t he see that gal the 
day Nellie Stuart died, a-rompin’ an’ a-tearin’ around the 
camp jest as ef her sister warn’t dead ? An’ a-flirtin’ with 
that feller Lieblin, till any man as liked her, 'd felt like kill- 
in’ him ? Didn’t he hear her a-cussin’ her little brother an’ 
usin’ words as ’ud make a sailor blush ? And now what do 
yer serpose he says ? He says : * Si, ole feller, I’m stuck 
arter that gal, an’ I mean ter marry her. But don’t yer 
fret. Polly’s a good gal at heart ; she’ll make a true wife. 
She’ll never cuss no more, an’ arter a while, an' I makes 
more money, I’ll give her a little edication. And you, Si, 
’ll come ter live with us.’ An’ when I says ‘ Never,’ he jest 
smiles and says : ‘ 1 know yer’ll like Pollie when yer sees 
how she loves me.’ An’ so I would, missus, ef she loved 
him. Ef she was the wurst hoodlum on this coast and 
loved my Bob, I’d like her, sure. But thar’s no love fer 
him from that gal. An’ sure as she marries him, she’ll 
break my Bob’s heart.” 

Again he bowed his head in his hands and shook with 
heavy sobs. 

“ How can I help you, Si ? Would you like me to speak 
to him ? ” 

“ That’s jest what I was a-hopin’ yer’d say. I didn’t dar 
ter ask yer. Ef he’d listen ter any body, he’d listen ter yer.” 

“Well, then, don’t mention what I want. Just ask Bob 
to call here to-morrow afternoon.” 

Si’s face brightened with hope, and catching the soft 
hand Mrs. Merilton extended, he nearly crushed it in his 
thankfulness. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


“quiet, but not peace.” 

M RS. MERILTON’S interview with Bob ended as such 
interviews generally end. 

After listening respectfully to her earnest words, Bob 
with his handsome face flushing, and his bright eyes grow- 
ing brighter, answered : 

“ Thankee, Mrs. Merilton, very much for your kindness. 
But I love Pollie, and I believe her when she tells me 
she loves me. She has only seed the rough side o’ 
life ; jest grubbing fer food, ever sence she was a babby ; 
and it’s no wonder ef a young gal, full o’ fun and sperjit, 
should take any chance ter catch a little brightness, even'ef 
that chance looks odd to older folks. She’s a good gal at 
heart. I feel it here.” And he touched his own honest 
heart. “ And I swear, ef I lives, ter make her a lady. As 
fer waitin’, missus, life’s all waitin’ for suthin or. other. 
And ef a feller sees what he knows’ll make him happy, 
lyin’ jest where he can put his hand and take it, wouldn’t 
he be a born idiot as ter say I’ll wait ! I’m sorry ter fret 
Si, ’cause he’s been mor’n a father ter me, this many a year. 
But when he sees how fond my Pollie is of me, and how 
good she’s goin’ ter be, Si’ll be likin’ her nearly as well as me.” 

What could Mrs. Merilton do but hope with all her heart 
that Pollie would prove as true as Bob believed her. She 
rose, wishing him the happiness he deserved. He still 
stood, hanging his head, and shifting from one foot to the 
other as if he had something to say. 


162 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Emboldened by Mrs. Merilton’s gentle (i Well, Bob ? " 
he looked at the sweet lady standing before him and said, 
hesitatingly : 

“ Ef I might be so bold as to ask a favor of you, mis- 
sus ? ” And when Eliza smiled for answer, he went on, in 
his own quick manner : 

“You that was so good to her dead sister, would you 
take an interest in my Pollie ? On account o’ her sister’s 
death she’s ter be married very quiet. I’ve sent for some 
furniture and stuff, and I’ve bought that little house Lieb- 
lin owned, jest opposite the store. Pollie didn’t like the 
gulch, sence Nellie died there. Jest as soon as the goods 
comes we’re ter be married. And when we’re settled, 
would yer come to see my wife ? ” 

He held up his head and looked so handsome, so true, as 
he said, “ my wife,” that Si’s words “ a lady might ha’ 
loved him,” came back to Mrs. Merilton. He was brave, 
handsome, at heart a gentleman, only lacking a little ex- 
terior polishing and some education. Why should not a 
lady love him ? Why was he so unfortunate as to waste 
the wealth of his true heart on a girl who seemed utterly 
trifling ? 

Readily granting the favor he asked, Mrs. Merilton again 
wished him happiness, and he took his leave. Springing 
down the mountain path to the road, he looked so strong, 
so full of happiness, that Eliza breathed a prayer that he 
might never find his love misplaced. 

Si came up every day to see Mrs. Merilton and Kathrine. 
He was restless, and excited. His only comfort was in 
talking of Bob and “ that hoodlum.” Much as he disliked 
her and dreaded the marriage, he wanted to give Bob a 
good “ send off,” so he made over to him his half of their 
placer claim, and taking five bright “twenties ” out of his 
buckskin bag, he asked Kathrine to wrap them up in paper, 


“ QUIET ; BUT NOT PEACE." 


163 


and write on it “ From a friend.” “Give it ter Bob,” he said, 
“ on the sly. Please never say whar they corned from. He’ll 
have need for all the money he can raise, poor lad, with all 
that family on his hands. Even that lazy dog, her father, 
is making calculations ter live off o’ Bob. And that darned 
fool, Bob, alius ready to give his head away, is jest as 
pleased as ef Hill was a-doin’ him a favor ! ” 

After some time, Bob’s furniture came, the little house he 
had bought for his bride was “ rigged up,” he moved into 
it, and was married to his Pollie. 

And despite Si’s forebodings of evil, Bob seemed perfectly 
happy. The forlorn children who, since Nellie’s death, had 
gone more and more ragged, were now well cared for, and 
they clung to this kind new brother whose generous love 
for his wife overflowed even to them. Mr. Hill, the father, 
had his full share of the comforts Bob’s money and labor 
brought, and Pollie, in all her new finery, returned Mrs. 
Merilton’s call. She seemed more frivolous than ever, and 
without a trace of the earnestness that had drawn Eliza to 
her sister Eleanor, and Mrs. Merilton could not help fancying 
how different life for all would have been, had Bob married 
Nellie, with her loving heart, her aspirations for a better, 
higher life. It was only one more of the inconsistencies of 
this world that he should have loved this rather pretty, but 
wholly inferior girl, who was totally unsuited to him. 

“ But we must submit our will and judgment to heaven,” 
said this sweet Christian woman, who never rebelled against 
the will of God in whom she believed. Having given to 
Bob his share of the placer digging, Si was out of work, 
and one day proposed to Kathrine to work her claim on 
shares. This proposition she accepted gratefully, and Si 
was almost happy again. 

Working so near Bob, meeting him at odd moments, and 
waiting every morning at his cabin to see the tall, hand- 


164 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


some figure and springy step of the lad he loved, seemed 
something like old times. There was a great deal of snow, 
and the gulch diggers were expecting a rich harvest when 
it should melt and swell the tiny thread of water that 
trickled through the boxes. 

“ Then we can do a little sluicing and make some money," 
they said hopefully. So hopefully that even the lazy ones 
were stirred into something like activity, going up the 
gulch, digging in the placers. 

While Si worked away, rolling out the dirt, his dump 
growing larger and larger. He would smile as he looked 
at the rich gravel, only waiting for the water to wash out its 
gold. 

“ How comfortable for the little gal, when I hands her 
her share, and fer a while she needn’t be a-frettin’ over jest 
how ter make her grub. Golly, but she’s a plucky one, a 
plucky one ! " 

And the old man would shake his head, as he thought of 
all Kathrine had endured. 

March had gone and April come. Yet the cold weather 
continued in an unprecedented manner. 

“ All the better for the water. It’ll last the longer," said 
the miners, and worked the harder, the camp taking a 
momentary brightness on itself. 

Bob had been married two months, and Si was so con- 
tent in his happiness that he had said to Mrs. Merilton con- 
fidentially : 

“ Well, after all, missus, I was the darned fool, not Bob. 
The gal seems a good gal, and Bob’s orful happy, God 
bless him." 

Then, as Eliza did not answer, he had looked up and 
caught a glimpse of such a white, frightened ‘face, that he 
started to his feet. 

“ Lord ha’ mercy, little missus, you’re ill," he exclaimed. 


“ QUIET, BUT NOT PEACE." 165 

She was not ill, but very nervous, very unhappy, over a 
trouble that was slowly and surely coming upon the good 
old man and poor Bob. 

It was only that day Kathrine had said : “ How long can 
this thing go on and Bob not know it ? I feel as if I were in 
a nightmare and might wake at any moment to learn that 
Bob and Si were both killed, and for that worthless girl ! ” 

Worthless, Polly was proving to be, all undeserving of 
the love she had won. Em’s white friends had first brought 
the news of Pollie’s faithlessness, for Lieblin was spending 
with her the hours honest Bob was away working for the 
whole family. And as Eliza and Kathrine sat on the rocks 
overlooking the camp, while the children and the dogs 
frolicked around, their own eyes verified the scandal that 
had reached their ears. They were filled with dread of 
what must happen. But the children grew and flourished. 
Harry with rosiest cheeks and brightest eyes, and baby full 
of sweetness and laughter. Their two little faces made the 
brightening of the dark clouds that hung about their mother. 
Nearly three months and no news from Owen ! She wrote 
faithfully, but there were no answers ! In the dead of 
night, through all the weary day, she would be haunted by 
the fear “ he is dead.” But she would not speak it, could 
not write it. 

Once the words uttered, they would be as some cruel 
steel that would pierce to its death this tender heart. And 
she must not die. There were her children ! Oh, the won- 
ders of this mother-love, that from the ashes of her own life 
springs triumphant ! 

Letters came frequently from Dr. Knowlton. But not 
even to this dear brother would Eliza tell how many dreary 
weeks she had looked in vain for letters from Owen. The 
days passed quietly, yet there was no sense of peace in their 
quietude. 


i66 


A PLUCKY ONM. 


The two women grew closer and dearer to each other, 
but their hearts were full of anxious, miserable care, and 
now, added to their own trouble, was this that was falling 
upon Bob and Si. They felt as if they were living on the 
eve of some terrible tragedy. 

When they met in the morning they would say : “ It 

will happen to-day.” And when at night they parted it was 
with the fear that the cry of “ murder ” would break upon 
the stillness of the night. 

At last the weather began to moderate and spring seemed • 
really to come. On Eliza’s little porch the friends were 
saying “ good-night.” 

The children were asleep, and from Em’s kitchen came 
the subdued sound of talking and laughter, while the 
moon with the golden hue of sunlight flooded a glorious 
scene, made up of mountains, deep canyons, and trickling 
along like a silvery thread, the tiny streamlet that flowed in 
front of Kathrine’s garden. 

“ In spite of all I’ve suffered here, I love these mountains. 
They seem so strong, so mighty. Eternal hills that hide my 
future, will you ever yield it up ? ” Kathrine’s face glowed 
with feeling, and her arms were outstretched as if she would 
hold to her bosom these silent friends who had never been 
false to her, as thus she thought aloud before this newer, 
dearer friend. 

Eliza’s eyes were filled with the pathos of unshed tears. 
The scene to-night was a glimpse of Paradise, it was so 
beautiful, but where was her dearest companion ? She was 
a lonely Eve, pining for her love, and wherever she looked 
she could see but wrong done to him. There stood the mill, 
under execution for a debt he never owed. There were the 
mines, into whose great holes he had trustingly poured his 
fortune. 

She could see Owen now, looking so proud and hand- 


“ QUIET , BUT NOT PEACE. 


167 


some after that mill run. How kindly he had felt to every 
one in the camp, how many he had generously helped. Yet 
for return he had only abuse and ingratitude ! Who, now, 
ever spoke well of him for his numerous benefits ? Owen’s 
last letter, with its words of hope, was but poor comfort. 
He had written : 

“ Nothing succeeds like success, and we will succeed. I 
shall save every dollar I make, and put it all in Miss Gor- 
don’s ledge. Cheer up, love ! when I return it will be to 
good fortune.” 

Brave words ! But where was the writer ? Was that 
cold moon looking down on his grave ? She trembled and 
would have fallen, but that she caught at Kathrine’s arm. 
In an instant that arm was around her. The glow of hope 
vanished from Kathrine’s face, as with tender anxiety she 
looked into the face of her friend. Pale, sad, it told of a 
breaking heart. And the beauty of the night was gone. 

As she walked down the trail to the cabin, Kathrine 
glanced toward the saloon, whose bright light was the only 
sign of life about the camp. Her father was there ! Gam- 
bling and drinking ! Sorrow and care were growing 
heavier for her friend and herself. Why was this ? 

They had never wronged the smallest of God’s* creatures. 

Why should they be so oppressed ? 

And Eliza, that lovely, tender woman, dying by inches ! 

“ Have you forgotten us, oh, God, have you forgotten ! ” 
she moaned. 

The cold, calm moon, the soft, light breeze, were the only 
answer to her cry of despair. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


“ POOR BOB ! ” 

N EVER had the fashionable gossips of Cetewayo a 
like delicious morsel as now, when the intrigue 
between Lieblin and Pollie, and Bob’s perfect ignorance, 
afforded them endless enjoyment. 

Poor Bob suspected nothing. Pollie was always ready 
for him when his work was over. She looked tidy and 
pretty, was not cross or ill-tempered, and he loved her. 

He loved her — a short phrase, but holding volumes. 
And Bob, looking out -of his own true eyes, saw no false- 
hood in the face of his Pollie. 

Si knew it now ! Walking up the trail one day, to bring 
Mrs. Merilton’s maih, he looked old and infirm, his head 
bent forward, and his step uncertain. Before he spoke a 
word, before they looked into his face, they knew the blow 
had fallen upon him. He handed the mail to Mrs. Meril- 
ton without even speaking to her or Kathrine, and with a 
heavy sigh, sat down exhausted. After a while he spoke. 

“ Poor Bob ! ” was all he said, as in the deep lines of his 
face was written a history of pain. 

What could be said in comfort to such a grief as this ? 
What could be done as help ? 

Eliza had tried the only way open to her. She had gone 
to see Pollie, as an older woman might, to counsel and to 
warn. As soon as she had heard the first whispers of 
scandal, she had tried to urge the girl to self-protection; 
speaking as she might have done to a younger sister, she 


“POOR BOB!" j6g 

had won a promise of amendment, and had cordially invited 
Pollie to her house. 

But the sweet home of Eliza, with its atmosphere of per- 
fect refinement, was dull for the young hoodlum. So when 
matters grew worse and worse, Mrs. Merilton made another 
effort to save from ruin the lives and happiness of Si and 
Bob. She was feeling ill but would go. “ Duty,” she 
whispered to Kathrine, on whose arm she leaned, and 
Kathrine left her at Pollie’s door, intending to return for 
her. “ I will not be long,” she had promised, tapping at 
the door with her fingers. As she rapped there were a few 
moments of silence, then Lieblin opened the door. He 
looked very much ashamed when he saw Mrs. Merilton, and 
with some muttered words went hastily to the store, and 
Mrs. Merilton entered. Kathrine had seen this much 
before she turned to walk away. She had not gone many 
steps when, hearing Pollie call, “ Miss Gordon, ef yer please 
ter come,” she hurried back, fearing that Eliza had grown 
worse. She found Mrs. Merilton deadly pale, while Pollie, 
red with anger, was saying, angrily and rudely : 

“ An’ now, Mrs. Merilton an’ Miss Gordon, ef I ain’t no 
lady, as yer calls yerself, I ken jest manage my own biz- 
ness, an’ don’t want no interferin’. I means ter do jest 
what I likes. Ef my husban’ don’t like it, he can git. 
Thar ! I’ve said my say, an’ ain’t got no time to spare. I 
ain’t got no sarvint ter work fer me.” 

With a toss of her head toward Mrs. Merilton, she opened 
the door wider, and stood holding to the knob, as, without 
a word, Kathrine offered Eliza her arm. The two ladies left 
the house with that quiet dignity which .has its effect even 
on the rudest. Even Pollie, hoodlum as she was, could not 
summon boldness enough to speak. At the time of its oc- 
currence, Kathrine had considered the advisability of de- 
scribing this scene to Si. But she had hesitated to tell him 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


170 

of Pollie’s ill-conduct. He was so happy in the fair seem- 
ing of Bob’s married life. 

And now, not even to let him know Mrs. Merilton’s efforts 
in his friend’s behalf, could she tell him, and add to his 
heavy grief. 

“ Poor Bob.” Again he heaved a mighty sigh. “ Poor 
Bob. It’ll break his heart, missus, it’ll break his heart. 
He’s sleepin’ on the edge o’ a bottomless pit. I dar’n’t 
wake him ! Fer when he wakes, he dies.” 

He sat a while longer, with head bended forward and 
face drawn in pain, then he rose, shook the hands Mrs. 
Merilton and Kathrine extended, saying with a sigh : 
“ Thank you, missus, thank, you, Miss Kath,” walking down 
the trail as one who had been ill. 

On the morrow he went back to work, but he smiled no 
more, losing from that day all of his jolly good humor which 
had been characteristic of him. 

As the snow melted, the gulch miners were able to do 
some rocking. Both Si and Bob took out a little gold, but 
it was slow work, tlie head water being still too small to ac- 
complish much. Occasionally a nugget was found, and one 
day this luck fell to Bob. 

He ran into the tunnel, where Si was digging, to show it 
to him, shouting in his happy voice : “ Luck, Si 1 Luck ! 
Look at it, old boy. It’s three hundred if it’s a cent,” 
he said, holding out the nugget. “ It’s half yours. Take it, 
won’t yer ? Well, ef yer don’t I’ll give it ter Pollie. The 
little gal shall have a silk dress. No more work for me ter 
day. I've got enough. I’m off ter make Pollie’s eyes 
shine.” 

Si tried to detain him on one pretext or other. He feared 
if Bob reached home before his usual time he might find 
out that horrid secret which was lying like lead on the old 
man’s heart. 


Poor bob t 


171 


Bob, however, was impatient to be off, saying quickly : 
“ Let me go now, old boy. Another day I’ll do just what 
yer wants. But I’m longin’ ter giv’ Polly this here bit o’ 
gold, an’ ter feel her arms aroun’ my neck.” 

Poor Bob ! 

“ Can I go too ? ” asked Si. Perhaps if he went he might 
save him somehow. 

“ Come an’ welcome,” said Bob, with a hearty slap on the 
old man’s back. “ It’ll be like old times, Si, to have yer eat 
with me. Yer won’t* mind the children, an’ old Hill. An’ 
poor Nellie Stuart’s babby? You’ll find I’ve quite a family 
an’ only two months married.” And Bob laughed, so full 
was he of happiness. 

Still thinking of his Pollie, as with an arm thrown around 
Si’s shoulders, the two friends walked down the gulch, Bob 
could not keep from talking of her. “ You’ll find my Pol- 
lie’s a good cook, too ! And she’s honest an’ true,” he said 
proudly, not noticing how silent Si was. Suddenly, pulling 
Si back with a jerk, he said in a whisper : 

“ Look thar, Si.” He pointed, where, at the mouth of 
one of the tunnels, a young girl, scarce seventeen, stood 
with the arm of one man round her waist, while with loud 
laughter and coarse words she was striking at another. 
“ That’s Jennie Smith, Jack’s wife. An’ him away workin' 
fer her an’ the babbies. Poor Jack ! Ef I was in his place 
yer’d see this chile pack his blankets an’ get out o’ camp to- 
night. I’d give her every thing I have, but I’d never look 
in her face again. Thank God, my Pollie’s true ! Thank 
God ! ” And his face grew brighter and brighter as each 
long stride took him nearer his home. 

Si kept close to him. Never quick in thinking, he seemed 
slower than ever before. 

“ What can I do ter help him ? ” he was saying to himself, 
as a turn in the trail brought them in sight of a little girl on 


172 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


the top of the hill. She was shading her eyes with her hand 
and looking up the gulch. 

“There’s one o’ the little ones cornin’ to meet me,” said 
Bob, with a laugh of pleasure. 

But as soon as she saw them she turned, and running 
quickly toward Bob’s house disappeared. 

“ Somethin’s wrong, Si. Perhaps Pollie’s sick ! ” At this 
possibility Bob quickened his pace, and, gaining on the lit- 
tle girl, caught her in his arms before she reached the door. 
Si, too, had hurried on. He saw the child struggling in 
Bob’s arms and heard her calling out : 

“ Put me down, Bob Goulding. Ef yer don’t, I’ll strike 
yer. Pollie promised me two bits ef I’d keep watch and 
tell her when you was a-comin’.” At these words Bob put 
the child on her feet and turned ghastly white. He pressed 
his hand to his head, as if he were ill, and then, without a 
word, strode into the house, and was just in time to see 
Lieblin hurrying out of the front door. 

Pollie, with scarlet face, confronted him. But he did not 
notice her, as with a bound he caught the young Jew by the 
throat. He gave him a blow in the face that made the blood 
spurt from his nose, and threw him full length on the 
ground. In a second he was surrounded by several men, 
who were lounging in the saloon porch, and for a few mo- 
ments there was the prospect of a fight. 

The old justice, fresh from a drink, drew near, sure he 
would be able to impose some fine, and glad of the chance 
of filling his empty pockets. 

But he was doomed to disappointment this time. For Bob 
looked pale and determined, and at his side was big Si, 
ready to bring down his huge fist on the first man that 
wanted any fighting. So Lieblin and his friends went into 
the store, to abuse Bob with closed doors. Yet these 
“ friends ” had been for weeks sneering at Bob Goulding’s 


POOR BOB! 


*73 


blind faith in his wife, and saying : “ Ef it wos me, I’d kill 
Lieblin.” So much for the sincerity of a mining camp and 
the world ! 

After the men had disappeared, Si still waited, hoping 
that some one would fight. 

He was saying to himself : 

“ P’r’aps ef I’d a good thump, I’d think what’s best ter 
do.” But no one came to give him the “ thump.” So he 
buried his clinched hands in his pockets, and turned to Bob 
for directions. 

“ Poor Bob ! ” Pale and weary he looked, leaning against 
his door and gazing at vacancy. He had not spoken a word 
since he had put the little girl out of his arms. Finally he 
said, as if thinking aloud : 

“ I wonder how long this has been going on ? ” 

Si made no answer. He was even more unhappy than 
Bob, and did not know what was best to do. While he was 
still wondering, with his face drawn into wrinkles of per- 
plexity, Bob settled the matter by putting his hands through 
Si’s arm and saying : 

“ Don’t leave me now, old boy. Come into the house.” 
And Si, as always, did what Bob wished. 

In the house Polly was busy with the dinner. Her em- 
barrassment had quite disappeared. She seemed uncon- 
scious of having wronged any one, least of all one who was 
so true to her, and went about her work humming to her- 
self. On the bed in the corner was the baby. Nellie Stu- 
art’s baby. It was holding out its little hands toward Bob, 
for his custom had been on first coming home to play with 
this little waif he had taken into his kind heart. But he had 
no word for him now, nor for the other children who were 
wont to cluster about his knee. They stood in a little group, 
with fingers in their mouths and wondering eyes looking at 
Bob, who with head bent forward and pale face drawn in 


174 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


lines of care, seemed forgetful of his surroundings. He 
started when Pollie called them to dinner, took Si’s arm and 
placed a chair for him. Then, after helping the others, he 
was again lost in thought; apparently forgot he was at 
table, for he did not eat a mouthful, staring at the cloth, as 
if upon it were written characters of pain. 

Even the children were affected by his gloomy silence. 
They spoke in whispers and seemed not to be hungry. 
Pollie, however, was perfectly comfortable. She ate heartily, 
and when she had finished, left the table. The moving of 
her chair roused Bob. 

He looked up, caught Si’s eyes fixed on him in love and 
pity, and saw the old man’s plate was untouched. Si had 
tried to eat, but he could not with Bob’s pale face before 
him. As Pollie stood ready to clear the table, he decided 
he had better go, so he rose too, and said : 

“ Bob, my boy, b’yer leave I reckon I’ll go.” He added : 
“ Good even, ma’am,” to Pollie, and “ Good even ” gravely 
to the children. Bob followed him to the door. He put 
his head on Si’s shoulder and said : 

“ Si, do yer think Poll — ” and there he stopped. No, he 
could ask no questions of any body. She was his wife. Si 
put his arm around him and held him a moment to his faith- 
ful heart, glad the question had not been asked, thankful 
that, from him, no sorrow need come. 

“ My boy, my dear boy,” he said, and walked away rap- 
idly. The tears were pouring down his face. He did not 
want Bob to see them. He walked a little way up the road 
and then turned to look at Bob, who was standing just 
where he’d left him, with his eyes fixed on the ground. He 
seemed to have forgotten every thing but his own thoughts. 
Si watched him until, after a little, he started, shook him- 
self, and then went into his cabin. 

For a while the old man wandered up and down, not know- 


“ POOR BOB / ” I7S 

ing what to do. Then seeing a light shine out from Eliza’s 
window, he walked up to her house. 

He found Kathrine and Eliza together, and telling them 
what had happened, asked : 

“ Now, missus, what can a feller like me do ? I'd lay 
down my life for Bob, an’ be glad for the occasion.” 

What could they tell him to do ? What could be done ? 
Nothing. 

“ Wal,” he went on with a sigh; “ I s’pose thar ain’t noth- 
in' a friend can do when thar’s trouble atween man and 
wife, only I’m so slow like. I thought as how I might fin’ 
out suthin if I axed yer. What’s a-comin’ next, missus, 
what’s a-comin’ next ? ” he asked, looking up as a blind 
man might, who desired, but could not, see. 

With that vacant stare he shook his head, a great tear- 
drop rolled down his face and fell on his hand, but he did 
not notice it. 

What was coming next ? was the question in their hearts, 
as holding Eliza close in her arms, Kathrine tried to quiet 
her trembling. Their silent sympathy comforted Si, if any 
thing can comfort such a grief as his. 

“Wal, missus,” he said, “good-night to yer an’ Miss 
Kath. I’ll jest keep a lookout. Ef I sees a chance, or yer 
knows on one, yer’ll let me know, so I can help Bob. So I 
can help Bob.” He repeated these words over and over as 
he walked up the gulch to his lonely cabin : “ So I can 

help Bob ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


“ WHAT WAS COMING NEXT ? ” 

A FTER a sleepless night Bob rose at daybreak. 

Pollie was sleeping quietly. How peaceful she looked ! 
She couldn’t sleep that way and have wronged a man that 
loved her as he did ! 

He must go to work, and there, alone, he would think 
over the matter. He could not live and believe his wife 
was false to him. It must all be a mistake, a miserable 
mistake, a miserable mistake. He had done her injustice 
and nearly maddened himself. 

The quiet face of the sleeping girl, with the gray of early 
dawn lying on it, was a powerful advocate for her innocence. 
Yet, had less loving eyes been looking, they might have 
found in it arraignment against this Pollie, who had won 
Bob’s true heart. 

After an early breakfast he started for the gulch. As he 
left his door he noticed Lieblin standing in the store porch. 
“ Damn him ! Ef ever he comes anigh my Pollie, I’ll brand 
him for life ! ” muttered Bob. Then he looked around 
surprised, for Lieblin was not the only early riser. The 
butcher stood at the open door of his shop as if he had been 
up for hours. 

“ He’s up early. Curious fer him,” Bob said, and then 
walked on. 

A few doors from Bob's little house there lived a cripple, 
a man of violent temper and great strength. Generally he 
was in bed when Bob passed, but this morning he sat on 


4 WHAT WAS COMING NEXT? 


177 


his doorstep whittling away with a large knife. As Bob 
came near he began to curse him ; but, absorbed in his own 
thoughts, to which the presence of Lieblin had given fresh 
impetus, he did not notice the man until he stood directly 
in his path. 

Then he looked up, and for the first time hearing what 
the fellow was saying, concluded he was drunk. Conscious 
of his own superior strength, he said : 

“Why, Nath, yer out o’ sorts, ain’t yer?” and gently 
pushed him aside. 

When, with an oath, and “ Yer struck me, did yer ? ” Nath 
plunged the knife in Bob’s side. 

Without a word, still holding his dinner bucket, Bob 
staggered back to his house. Covered with blood, he sank 
into a chair, and Pollie’s scream, her frightened face, re- 
paid him for his suffering. 

“ She loves me,” he thought, “ she’s true. Thank God! ” 

Hearing Pollie’s scream, several men and women rushed 
into the house, but not before Lieblin and the butcher had 
told them that Bob had struck the first blow and Nath had 
acted in self-defense. 

There was a “ talkin’ over the subject,” the justice hav- 
ing quite decided to release Nath after exacting a fee, when 
Si, breathless, stood before him. 

“ Ef yer don’t send this devil to Broncho ter jail, I’ll send 
yer both ter hell ! ” he shouted. 

This changed the appearance of things, making the jus- 
tice whisper to Si : 

“ I’ve no money to send him. Will you pay ? It’ll take 
over fifty dollars.” 

Being answered by Si emptying his money bag in his hand, 
he called the sheriff, who was very loath, proceeded to escort 
the criminal to the county seat, and the crowd dispersed, won- 
dering how Si “ up gulch could so- soon hev heard o’ it.” 


178 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Not imagining the pale-faced little girl at the door had 
been the messenger of these sorrowful tidings to the old 
man. She had, however ; running with all her might up 
to the little cabin as soon as Bob entered his kitchen with 
blood streaming from his frightful wound. It was the same 
child who had yesterday been on the lookout “ ter let Pollie 
know.” Perhaps in her ignorant little heart she had felt 
some injustice had been done this kind brother who had 
been more than father to them all. Perhaps it was only a 
child’s terror at blood ; but she had flown up the trail swift 
as the wind, and bursting into Si’s cabin, where he sat at 
his lonely breakfast, shrieked at the top of her voice : 

“ Come, quick, Si Doone ! Bob’s murdered ! ” 

=■ This was what was coming next. Without stopping for 
his hat Si rushed down the gulch. Meeting a man on horse- 
back, he shouted to him : 

“ I’ll give fifty dollars ef yer’ll get me a doctor from 
Passos Creek as fast as horses can bring him.” 

Fifty dollars on Si’s word was as good as gained, so the 
man turned his horse’s head and galloped off in the direc- 
tion of the camp, over a hundred miles away. 

Still hurrying on, Si came upon the group around the old 
justice. He caught the words, “ He’ll be all right ; self- 
defense,” and, pushing aside the others, stood facing the 
distributor of law. Glaring on him like a wild beast, he 
roared the words which changed the balance of even-handed 
justice and sent Bob’s assassin to jail. 

Then, stopping at the door to catch his breath and steady 
himself, Si went into the room. On the bed, bleeding 
frightfully, lay the man he loved. 

The barber, the nearest approach to a surgeon in the 
camp, was trying to sew up the terrible wound. Bob was 
suffering intensely, yet he smiled as he saw Si, and held out 
his hand to him with the words ; 


“ WHAT WAS COMING NEXT? 


179 


“ Pretty hard, old boy, but I mean ter pull through.” 

Si tried to speak, but at the sight of that fearful wound 
his hope had died, and words, choked in his throat, would 
not come, without a sob, which he feared would distress 
Bob. He sat quite still, looking at the lad so dear to him, 
until Bob said with a sigh : 

“ How I wish I had a doctor ! ” 

How Si’s heavy heart lightened ! He had been able to 
gratify Bob’s last wish, and although he had never learned 
a prayer, God must have heard the honest thankfulness 
that rose from his soul as he said : 

“ You’ll have one, Bob. I’ve sent for a doctor.” 

“ Good, old boy,” and Bob smiled again, though just then 
under the barber’s unskillful hands he was nigh fainting 
with pain. 

A moan did escape from his white lips, when the needle 
was drawn out for the last time, unconsciousness nearly 
falling upon him, but Kathrine’s whisper to Si - roused the 
brave fellow to further effort. 

“ Can I help ? Can Mrs. Merilton do any thing ? ” she 
asked, as pale, horrified, she stood at the door. 

The news of this tragedy had reached her at her friend’s 
house, and without a moment’s hesitation she had hurried 
down to help. 

At her words Bob opened his eyes. 

“ Come in, Miss Kath ; I’m a little hurt, but not so bad. 
I’ll be all right soon,” he said. 

Kathrine entered the little room he had fitted up with so 
much pride and pleasure, feeling as if she were in a church, 
for so quietly he bore his pains, so cheerily he spoke. She 
glanced around for Pollie, feeling an indignant throb as 
she heard her voice in the adjoining room, where, with 
neighbors, she was gossiping over the affair. Even a word 
or so rose distinct above Bob’s groans, as now, partly un- 


i8o 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


conscious, he tossed about without a moment’s cessation of 
pain. 

Still that magpie discourse went on with the chattering 
women, for there be in the world creatures so hollow, so 
frivolous, that life’s darkest tragedies can not rouse them 
from the shallow pools of their nature. 

After thirty-six hours of untold agonies Bob's pains sud- 
denly ceased. 

“ Why ! ” he exclaimed, surprised, “ it’s over, Si ; I’m 
nigh well. I can get up and walk.” 

Si did not answer, his face worked convulsively, for he 
and Kathrine watching at Bob’s bedside knew that “ well ” 
would never come for him in this world. 

“ May I pray ? ” Kathrine asked, as this false hope made 
Bob happy. 

Her solemn words touched his tender heart. 

“ It takes me back ter the days when I was a boy an’ 
went ter church with mother,” he said, softly. Then sud- 
denly missing his wife, “ Where’s Pollie ? ” he asked. 
“ Pollie, I wants yer.” 

She came at his call, and he put his arm around her, 
drawing her to the bed, as he said gently : 

“ My gal, ef I wronged yer by a thought, fergive me. I 
love yer, Pollie, with all my heart.” 

She did not answer, did not shed a tear; while Kathrine 
was weeping and Si suffering a thousand deaths of pain, 
this young woman, who was the cause of all, looked on her 
work unmoved. 

Toward evening the doctor came, saw Bob, and said to 
Si, who had gone with him outside the door : 

Si The man is beyond help. It was a fatal wound,” and 
then with expressions of regret, received his fee and de- 
parted. 

Three hundred dollars — it took Si’s last penny. 


“ WHAT WAS COMING NEXT?" 181 

But what was that to Si ? What were all the world’s riches 
to him ? They could not save his Bob. Worthless dross, 
heartless world, empty life. Bob was dying, and the old 
man’s heart was broken. 

With a groan he hurried back to the room, where that 
dear life was rushing too quickly from him. He could not 
lose one instant of it. Kneeling at the foot of the bed 
Kathrine was keeping watch alone, as Si in mute agony 
held Bob’s hand, gazing upon him as he lay dozing. 

Wakening, he called : “ Quick, Si, raise me, I’m strang- 
ling ! ” Opening the door Kathrine called Pollie. 

“ In a minute ! ” she answered, composedly, being then 
much engaged with the gossips. 

Bob did not hear her. He was easily resting in Si’s 
arms, the handsome brown head leaning on that faithful 
breast. 

“ Good old Si. More than father,” he murmured. And 
drawing down the old face, kissed it. 

Presently he missed his wife again. 

“ Pollie ! ” he called. But before she came he had fallen 
asleep in Si’s tender arms. And from that sleep he awak- 
ened in eternity. Of all his kindly impulses there remained 
but a piece of clay. 

Kathrine was still kneeling, her face buried in her hands, 
and Si, holding the dead body of his boy, seemed turned 
to stone, when the door opened and Pollie appeared. She 
was vexed. 

“Is he dead? Wal, I think yer might ha’ called me 
again ! ” she said, with the same vexation which a broken 
cup, or a lost ribbon, might awaken in a child. Her heart- 
lessness roused Si from his stupor of grief. 

“ Let’s go, Miss Kath. Let’s go.” Reverently laying 
the body down, he stood looking at the face of his beloved 
dead. 


182 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


He bent over him, kissed him, smoothed back the brown 
curls, and then with a half sob, half groan, like the wind 
when it rushes through some mighty forest, staggered from 
the room. 

Kathrine hurried after him, putting her hand in his arm, 
and little Harry, who was waiting at the door, took one 
great hand and pressed his rosy lips upon it, as a token of 
his sympathy. Together they walked out of the camp, and 
up the road toward the gulch. When they came to the 
trail that led to his cabin, Si stopped them. 

“ Don’t come any further, children, I thanks yer, but I’m 
better alone just now. No, Miss Kath, yer needn’t worry 
fer me. I’m boun’ ter live, ter make money, as’ll pay a 
lawyer ter defen’ my Bob, when these devils’ll swar it 
twarn’t murder. I ain’t a-goin’ ter trust his memory in the 
hands o’ men as ain’t got no interes’ to pertec’ my boy. 
I’se got suthin ter live fer, till that’s done.” 

They stood looking after him, as he walked toward his 
lonely cabin. How old and broken he seemed ! He that 
yesterday was a giant among men, had already fallen into 
the “ sere and yellow leaf.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


“ NOBLE AS A BELTED KNIGHT.” 

'T'HE next day Harry ran up to tell his mother that Bob 
1 was to be buried in an hour, as by that time the cof- 
fin would be finished. “ And Si don’t know, mamma. 
He’s not been down to camp since he went home yesterday.” 
The boy’s bright face was clouded with sympathy. 

“ I will tell him.” Kathrine started at once on her er- 
rand. Harry followed ; but on the road they met Tom, 
who was grieved and shocked over Bob’s death. 

He had not gone near Si’s cabin, fearing to intrude on 
his grief ; but now he gladly undertook to carry the mes- 
sage from Miss Gordon. So when the hour came Pollie 
had chosen for the funeral, Si was waiting at the door, 
dressed in his uncomfortable “ best suit,” and looking old 
and careworn. 

There was much bustle and preparation. After sending 
several small messengers flying hither and thither, Pollie 
had succeeded in borrowing a bonnet to suit her taste, evi- 
dently believing that the most important part of the cere- 
mony. 

When Mrs. Merilton and Kathrine came to pay their last 
tribute of respect to their dead friend, they were surprised, 
shocked, to see Lieblin among the pall-bearers. He moved 
about smilingly on the country people, too pleased with 
himself to be affected by the death of this man, whose last 
day of life he had imbittered. It was a tragedy from which 
he could not entirely free himself, for while no evidence 


184 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


convicting him was brought out at the hurried inquest held 
by the old justice, it was generally known that Nath Brown 
was heavily in debt to Lieblin, and that previous to the mur- 
der, no unpleasant words had passed between Bob Gould- 
ing and Nath ; that Lieblin and his allies protested against 
Nath’s arrest, claiming that he had acted in self-defense. 
Lieblin swore to it, and so did the butcher, both claiming 
to be accidental witnesses. This all demonstrated so much 
interest that, had it not been for Si’s timely words to the 
justice, Bob’s murderer would probably have attended his 
funeral. The statement of the dying man, the testimony of 
a Chinaman, and a woman who saw the attack, would have 
counted as trifles in the law courts of Cetewayo, when 
weighed against the wishes of the “ leadin’ citizens.” 

And now this Lieblin was chosen to hurry Bob to his 
grave. 

“ Is it possible such a creature as Pollie Goulding has a 
soul ? ” thought Kathrine. “ The beasts do better than 
she.” 

Turning from her in disgust, she glanced at Si, to see if 
he had noticed what had so shocked them. He had just 
left the crowded room after one last look at his boy, and 
now, with head bent down, stood the picture of grief. 
When the wagon that did duty as a hearse drew up before 
the door, and the pall-bearers, filled with their own import- 
ance, started to bring out the coffin, Si for the first time saw 
Lieblin. His face changed to a dark red, as pushing him 
aside, he took the first place beside the coffin. 

For a moment there seemed a probability that the quiet 
would be broken by a brawl ; but Si was a formidable 
adversary. Buried in his grief, he did not notice the mut- 
terings and threatening looks of Lieblin’s allies, but when 
the word was given, the old man raised on his shoulder the 
body of his Bob ; passing by the discomfited pall-bearers, 


“ NOBLE AS A BELTED KNIGHT 185 

gently and without assistance, he put the coffin in the 
wagon, the driver touched his horses, and the procession 
moved on, with Si following the hearse, as chief mourner. 
The irate men, shorn of their honors, either had to keep up 
with the others, or “ lose the fun,” as they called it. So of 
two evils, choosing the lesser, they marched after “ big Si.” 

Shortly after Bob’s death, Nellie Stuart’s baby was found 
dead in its cradle. “ Smothered through carelessness,” 
“ Killed by an overdose of sleeping potion,” were the whis- 
perings of the gossips. But the gossips did not obtrude 
their views, or seek to prove their truth or falsity ; and 
except the gossips, no one was interested in the matter, for 
the baby’s father had disappeared from the camp. But 
another stab had been given to Eliza’s heart, and Kathrine, 
too, was sickening, as these horrors followed so closely, 
treading one upon another’s heels. Yet what could these 
two women do ? Nothing but “ watch and pray.” 

In less than a week after the rocks were piled above 
Bob’s body his murderer, Nath Brown, was back in the 
camp — out on bail. His return was a species of triumph, 
and foremost among those congratulating, were Alcorn, the 
sheriff, and the justice of the peace. 

When Si heard Nath Brown had returned, a free man, he 
swore that he would take the law in his own hands. Fear- 
ing something like this, Eliza and Kathrine walked to the 
placers where Si and Tom had been working on shares for 
Miss Gordon. Tom was working alone. He told them 
that Si had left off work a little before. That as soon as 
he heard Nath Brown was back he had thrown down his 
pick, and, without a word, had gone to his cabin. Very 
anxious, they hurried on, and found the old man “ fixing 
up ” his traps and blankets, as if on the eve of a journey. 
His face was set and determined, as one bent on some pur- 
pose. 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


1 86 

He looked up as they entered, but did not speak even a 
word of greeting. Kathrine put her hand on his arm. “ Si,” 
she said, “ if you think of revenging Bob’s death, you place 
yourself among his enemies ! You leave his memory without 
a defender ! He will be spoken of as a brawler, and you, the 
man he loved, as a murderer. We are your friends, and we 
will suffer doubly. Are you willing to add to our troubles ? ” 

She spoke half in command, half in entreaty, looking at 
him with earnest eyes. At her side, her fingers tightly 
locked together, her face wet with tears, stood the “ missus,” 
looking more angel than woman. 

She seemed such a tender creature, to this huge man, and 
the troubles that surrounded her were wearing her life away! 
How delicate she looked ! The white hands, with their 
blue veins, were almost transparent. From the first 
moment she had put her soft hand in his, Si would have 
died to serve her. Could he add to her cares ? Could he 
help dig the grave that seemed opening for her ? Slow of 
thought, imperfect of expression, Si’s great heart was full 
of tenderest feeling as he looked at this gentle lady. 

“ What 'ud yer have me do ? Let that murderer go free ? ” 
he asked of Kathrine. 

“ The murderer shall not go free,” she answered. “ But, 
Si, you can not take the law in your own hands. When the 
time of trial comes, we will engage a lawyer to prosecute 
this murderer. Think, Si, how many lives depend on 
yours. Tom’s wife and children look to you for their 
future. If you desert Tom, he will fall into drinking and 
gambling. His good nature is his snare. And Mrs. 
Merilton, would you give her more pain ? ” Kathrine’s 
voice was full of feeling as she appealed to the man’s true 
nature. Si turned away his face. His resolution was 
weakened, but he had not given up his purpose. How 
could he live, breathing the same air as Bob’s murderer ? 


“ NOBLE AS A BELTED KNIGHT." 


187 


There was silence for a moment ; then two soft hands 
took his clinched one, hanging at his side. A soft voice, 
broken by tears, said simply : “ Don’t desert us, Si ; you 
are our only friend.” Vanquished, he raised the slender 
hands to his lips, and kissed them reverently. Then draw- 
ing a large knife from his pocket, which he had put there, 
vowing to kill Nath Brown, just as he had murdered Bob, 
he gave it to Mrs. Merilton, and pushing her gently toward 
the door, threw himself on the floor and sobbed aloud. A 
poor, ignorant laborer, but noble as belted knight, for he 
had surrendered his revenge ! 

Softly closing the door they left him. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 


“A sinking ship.” 

nHHINGS grew worse and worse for the little camp. The 
1 placer diggers had worked steadily ; there were great 
piles of gravel waiting for the water, but the water did not 
come. 

By a strange fatality the snow, which had awakened hope, 
was of little benefit. “ It didn’t thaw the right way,” the 
miners said, for between very cold nights and evaporation 
and siepage during the day, little water poured its way into 
the carefully prepared boxes. There was no such thing as 
sluicing. Even rocking was not easy. Kathrine’s own dis- 
appointment and absolute needs sank into insignificance, 
beside her disappointment for Si. All his money had been 
spent, and on the result of the spring’s sluicing he depended 
for payment . for the lawyer to prosecute the murderer. 
The district attorney, who had accompanied Nath Brown 
back to Cetewayo, had openly said, “ Nath will be acquitted. 
No Nevada jury will convict him.” Si could not leave the 
case with such a man ! Yet the snow was gone, the tiny 
thread of water was tinier than ever, and the great dump of 
gold-carrying dirt, the result of months of labor, was truly a 
mound of despair. 

All down the gulch these mounds stood out, where many 
a poor fellow had wasted time and strength, only to meet 
disappointment. For the warm weather had set in and there 
could be no chance of water for another year, as soon, with 


“ A SINKING SHIP." T Sg 

the hot sun streaming on it, even the thread of water would 
be dried. 

The weather grew warmer, the flowers peeped out amid 
the rocks, delighting the children, but their mother became 
paler and paler. 

They would run to her laden with the bright gifts of 
nature, their cheeks rivaling the deep rose of the cactus 
blooms; yet while they always met an answering smile, there 
came no flush to the pure, pale face. Kathrine’s heart was 
almost bursting with despair, as she watched the slow fad- 
ing of this perfect woman, who was pining away for her 
absent husband. He seemed forgetful of her. “ If he 
were dead, she would certainly hear. He is not poor and 
unknown to drop out of life thus quietly. No, he is forget- 
ting, he is neglecting, the loveliest of God’s handiworks,” 
was Kathrine’s thought, as Harry would often ask : “ Why 

don’t papa write, mamma ? ” And the pale lips, forced into 
a smile, would answer, “ We must be patient. He has writ- 
ten, love, surely, but the letters have miscarried.” 

Faithful to her minutest duty, letters were sent regularly 
to Owen, Dr. Knowlton, and Owen’s mother, full of a cheer- 
fulness she did not feel. Kathrine, looking on, would 
fairly hate the recreant husband of this devoted wife. The 
handsome face she used to admire she now detested. It was 
but the fair seeming of a cold and hollow nature. So she 
now believed, dreading when this belief should become a 
fact. As for the camp, it seemed a sinking ship and was 
almost deserted. The miners and hard workers had for the 
greater part gone off to more prosperous districts in search 
of work. 

The ranchmen rarely came into town. There was little 
money in circulation and credit was entirely used up. Si 
kept working on with a desperate energy. His one chance 
in defending Bob’s memory lay in finding a nugget. It 


190 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


was a hard and unequal struggle, this digging, this seeking, 
for something hidden by the earth — a something whose ex- 
istence was only a probability. The chance of success grew 
fainter and fainter ; for he seemed to have lost the pay 
streak. He could not even get a color out of the pans he 
daily tried, using carefully the precious water, each drop of 
which was valuable. Tom had worked faithfully side by 
side with Si, until one day there came a letter from his wife 
telling him that their eldest boy was dying and begged to 
“ see daddy once more.” So the little gold dust they both 
had washed out, and which was kept just to buy “ grub,” was 
given to Tom — Kathrine not only insisting on giving her 
share of this small fund, but aiding from her own poor store. 
She had been forced to sell her dear horse, Frank, to a 
ranchman; her chickens had also been sacrificed to supply 
her daily needs, and out of this small fund she gave help to 
Tom. 

She rarely saw her father except at night, when he would 
come home with unsteady step, heavy with liquor, and at 
breakfast, when he partook of what he called her “ prison 
house” food. Eliza, knowing something of the state of 
affairs, had tried to induce Kathrine to live v/ith her. But 
she would not. 

“ My duty lies there,” she would answer ; “ I am not 
saint enough to love it. But do it, I must.” Then too, 
she began to fear that Mrs. Merilton was not in as comfort- 
able circumstances as she had believed. The Indians, who 
used to hang about the house in numbers, became fewer. 
Sometimes now they would point up to the Meriltons' house 
and say “ Che money dere. Heap gone, heap gone.” 

“ Why does not Mr. Merilton write ? Why does not her 
brother seek to know if all is well or ill with his sister ?” 
she was always asking herself, with her impetuous nature 
ready to hate any one who could be blamed for Eliza’s 


“A SINKING SHIP . 


191 

sorrows. But even as she raged internally at the treatment 
of her friend, kinder thoughts would rise when Owen’s face, 
frank, handsome, a generous soul imprinted on it, would 
come before her. All human nature was false if he had 
neglected his wife. He must be dead. Perhaps both he 
and his friend had been killed in some railway accident. 
Filled with this new possibility Kathrine dreaded to pick up 
a paper which told of foreign mishaps, lest she should see 
the name of the prominent New-Yorker and of Mr. Meril- 
ton. Once admitted, the thought that Owen was dead grew 
stronger. It took such hold on her that she feared it would 
escape from her lips. So pale Eliza looked, it only needed 
this to kill her. Perhaps it was killing her ! For into the 
brown eyes had come a look of terror, and she would start 
and shiver at the slightest sound, as in constant dread of 
something. 

Anxiously Kathrine watched her, concealing her fears as 
best she could, while the days passed, but brought no change, 
no tidings from the absent. 

The weather was perfect, the skies most beautiful, but 
for the two women there was no sunshine in their hearts. 
To them the camp had become a sepulcher, and ghosts of 
the year’s tragedies haunted every nook. 

One night, while sitting alone in her cabin, looking sadly 
at the moonlight, Kathrine was thinking of her friend, of 
the sorrows of this year, which on its first day had seemed 
to open so well for her, and of the horror that daily grew 
stronger, the horror of losing in death this one dear friend. 

“ How can I help her ? ” she thought. “ I would give my 
life for good news from her husband ! Could it be possible 
his letters have come and Lieblin has detained them ? But 
what motive could he have ? What fiendish cruelty if he 
has done this ! I will speak to him to-morrow. Perhaps 
by a look, a -nod, he may betray himself.” 


192 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


She could hardly wait for the morning, so anxious was 
she to start on this forlorn hope. All the sleepless hours 
of the night she spent in self-disgust that never before had 
this possibility suggested itself to her mind. She was up 
betimes, and hurried down to the store to find it locked. 
“ He is asleep. All the better ; I will have a chance to 
speak to him without any of his cronies being near,” for she 
knew his weakness ; she would be pleasant in manner, and 
perhaps — God grant it ! — perhaps if he had kept back the 
letters he would yield them up. So she walked up and down 
the porch as she waited, arranging the little comedy she 
would play. When Lieblin saw Miss Gordon waiting he was 
delighted. She smiled, too, in a winning way when he opened 
the door and bowed low. As for him, he could not imagine 
what had brought her here except his own attractions. All 
things are possible to the vain, and while Kathrine was still- 
ing her haughty heart, which rose indignant at a slight 
tinge of familiarity in Lieblin’s manner, he was thinking : 

“ My shtars, I belief de girl’s in lofe mitme. She’s awful 
handsome.” 

“ Mr. Lieblin ” — how sweet her voice was, and how she 
despised him as she played the little part — “ would you do 
me the favor to look among your old letters ? I have reason 
to believe there are some belonging to Mrs. Merilton. She 
is quite ill with anxiety. If you could find the letters, I 
know she will readily overlook any past carelessness or acci- 
dent.” 

As she spoke, she kept her eyes on him in the most 
bewildering manner. He was so pleased, he hardly heard 
her words, and certainly saw no offense in them. Smiling 
his delight as he answered : 

“ Vy, Mish Katrin, Mishter Merilton ish not de furst hus- 
band vot leafs his vife ! Now, if it vash you, I could not 
understhand a man’s goin’ off ! ” And he laughed at his 


“ A SINKING SHIP. 


193 


own exceedingly delicate compliment. Kathrine’s face 
flushed a deeper red ; she was almost choking with anger. 
Her hand clinched involuntarily ; she could hardly restrain 
herself from knocking down this little puppet that dared to 
sneer at her friend. But what would that accomplish ? 
And she was sure, from a faint change of expression on 
Lieblin’s face, that he had these letters. What could she 
say next ? Great heavens ! if he did not stop leering at her, 
she would strike him in the face. Meanwhile, Lieblin, per- 
fectly charmed with himself, with both elbows on the 
counter, was gazing at her, and the deeper her color grew, 
the more beautiful she was. She would try a little terroriz- 
ing. Perhaps that would accomplish more than flattery. 
Looking sternly at him, she said : “ Mr. Lieblin, do you 
know the penalty of stopping the United States mails ? 
We have reasons for knowing that letters with European 
postmarks have arrived for Mrs. Merilton. This lady has 
powerful friends ; her brother is a man of wide influence, 
and he will take up this matter. I feel sorry that trouble 
should come upon any acquaintance of mine, and I warn 
you in time. Look for these letters, I implore you.” She 
changed once more to kindness, for she was convinced now 
that Lieblin had the letters. During the first part of her 
speech he had turned pale, shifted his eyes, and when she 
once more smiled upon him, he made a start as if about to 
do her bidding. 

Thank God ! thank God ! her heart was saying. In her 
thankfulness the offensive looks of Lieblin were forgotten, 
when a voice behind her made her start, turning her grati- 
tude to despair. 

Unnoticed, Captain Alcorn had entered the store, had 
listened to Kathrine’s last words, and had seen Lieblin 
about to yield. 

“ Curse him for a fool ! ” he said under his breath. Then 


194 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


bowing respectfully, but with covert sneer in voice and man- 
ner, he said aloud, “ Miss Gordon is so persuasive, she 
makes a man attempt the impossible. Our friend, Mr. 
Lieblin, has felt as anxious and compassionate as every 
gentleman must for Mrs. Merilton, in her unfortunate posi- 
tion. He has searched the mail diligently, but in vain, hop- 
ing to find a letter for her. Yet now, dazzled by Miss 
Gordon’s smile, forgets his unavailing labors and is willing 
to try once more to find what he knows does not exist.” 
As Alcorn thus threw open blame on Mr. Merilton, Kathrine 
felt bitter shame for ever doubting him, even in her secret 
thoughts. Fool that she had been, not to have sooner 
known that the suppression of the letters involved a diabol- 
ical plot, and that the fiend Alcorn was at the bottom of it. 
But she did not notice him, except by her first start, did not 
seem to be aware that he was in the store, as she had kept 
her eyes fixed on Lieblin; but there was no hope; now that 
this master-spirit of evil had appeared to command his tool, 
there was no longer the chance to serve Eliza, for at his 
word Lieblin had started, colored, and with hand on his heart, 
in grotesque imitation of Alcorn’s manner, bowed very low. 

“ Mish Gordon, ’pon my vord and honor, I haf looked 
most regular for dose letters. I am griefed, too, dat Mrs. 
Merilton should be so disappointed.” This was all ! She 
knew it was over. She was defeated ! She had borne 
insults for herself and her dear friend, and all to no purpose. 
Without another word she left the store, not deigning even 
by a glance to notice Captain Alcorn, who stood bowing 
as he held the door for her to pass. She had never 
looked more beautiful, he had never admired her so much. 
Yet, as she scorned him thus openly, rage was his ruling 
passion. He walked to the end of the porch commanding 
a view of the road and of the tall, beautiful woman, whose 
rapid steps were carrying her quickly homeward. 


“ A SINKING SHIP. 


J 95 


“ Curse you ! ” he muttered. “ Curse you and your pride ! 
I’ll have you yet kneeling at my feet ; or I’ll break your 
heart, and spoil the beauty that maddens me.” He con- 
tinued his cursing and mutterings, while Kathrine walked 
on, oppressed by the sense of failure that followed her 
every effort. 

It was the first time she had been within speaking dis- 
tance of Alcorn since that fearful night when, alone with 
him on the mountain side, her life seemed hanging by a 
thread. As she thought of the two men who had be- 
friended her, Bob’s handsome face came before her. He was 
lying cold and stiff in the graveyard, and Si was left broken- 
hearted. They had been her friends, helped her, and this was 
all they had gained ! It seemed as if a curse were upon 
her, blasting every life that even for a moment touched her 
own. And this dearest friend, who had striven to help her 
to happiness — was she, too, to be a victim ? She hurried to 
Eliza’s house and found her in an easy-chair in the door- 
way, watching the children, who were playing in the sun- 
shine. They looked like rosebuds, full of the sweetness of 
life, and, with the two puppies, made a group delightful to 
eyes wearied with the dull melancholy of the camp. She 
gazed on these before speaking, thinking how it would be 
best to begin, for Kathrine had decided to tell Eliza her 
suspicions ; nay, her convictions. Any thing was better 
than to encourage the fear that ill had happened to Owen. 
So she took the hand Eliza held out in welcome and, sitting 
at her feet, recounted her interview with Lieblin, adding : 

“ I am sure, if Captain Alcorn had not came in, that I 
would have this moment the happiness of seeing you with 
a letter from your husband. I believe he is not only well 
but anxious, very anxious, at not hearing from you. Per- 
haps at this very hour he is coming toward you as fast as 
steam can bring him.” “ Do you believe this, Kathrine ? 


196 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Do you believe Owen is in life ? ” Eliza had sprung to her 
feet, her weakness and lassitude forgotten in this newborn 
thought. The hours of the past months, already like un- 
substantial spirits, were vanishing before the light, and the 
eyes searching Kathrine’s face, were trying to read her soul. 
“ Do you believe this ? ” 

“From my soul, I believe it to be true,” Kathrine an- 
swered ; and weeping, Eliza fell on her breast. But from 
those tears were springing the rainbow of promise. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


“si’s nugget.” 

H OLDING fast to the belief that Owen lived, and that 
to treachery was due this long silence, Eliza endured 
the agonies of hope deferred. She was like a castaway in 
mid-ocean, straining eager eyes for some sail, some token 
from the world, wherein moved and lived her beloved. 

Kathrine went to the store every mail day hoping against 
hope for a chance to speak alone with Lieblin. But 
Alcorn always seemed to know of her coming, and was 
ready to thwart her purpose. No matter how she changed 
the hour, he was always there awaiting her. 

“ Oh ! ” she would indignantly exclaim, as she sat talking 
with her friend : “ Eliza, if ever I have a moment alone 
with Lieblin, I will strangle him until he gives up those 
letters ! ” 

“ We must forgive,” murmured Eliza. 

“ Forgive ! ” And springing to her feet, Kathrine stood 
erect, shaking her extended hand toward the camp. 

“ I hate them ! I long to give them injury for injury. 
When I see day by day your sufferings increase, and think 
these vile wretches have caused them, my soul is black with 
anger and revenge. I look at the blue sky, and wonder if 
the God who made the beauties of this world is cognizant 
of the sorrows of the good. I almost doubt there is a God 
who calmly looks down and permits such things ! No, I 
am not like you, an angel. I am of the earth, earthy ; I 
hate when I hate, and I love when I love ! ” As she spoke 


198 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


she fell on her knees beside Eliza, holding her fast to her 
throbbing heart, and kissing the lips that would have chid- 
den her for the wickedness of her words. 

Days went on and lawlessness increased in the camp. 
Hardly a day passed on which there was not some flagrant 
violation of law and order. Sometimes there was a rob- 
bery, even here, where there was so little to rob. Sometimes 
there was a desperate fight ; and constant brawls would fill 
the air with curses, which the wind would carry to Eliza’s 
door. With paling faces the two women listened, and 
dreaded fresh horrors. Daily, coarse men and coarse 
women walked the road, shouting ribald songs, and made 
night hideous with oaths and profane jests. Yet there were 
no arrests made. The justice of the peace, alternating between 
drinking and sleeping off the effect of his draughts in the 
saloon porch, and Alcorn, the sheriff, seemingly exulted in 
the degradation of the camp. Kathrine, who for. years had 
gone fearlessly for miles around the country, now never 
walked out without her pistol in her pocket, and her hand 
on it. Eliza a*nd her children kept close to their house, 
and Em would not show her face. Her admirers had been 
forced to go away in search of work when the water failed. 
So except Si, the ladies had not a friend in the camp, nor 
even an adherent. 

Alarmed for Mrs. Merilton’s safety, Si installed himself 
as watchman. After digging all day, seeking what he 
could not find, he would spend half the night walking 
round and round the house, until the saloon lights were 
out, and drunken sleep succeeded drunken revelings. 
Hearing these regular footsteps, Mrs. Merilton, faint with 
terror, but determined to know the danger, threw open the 
door, and, to her immense relief, saw Si. She put out her 
hand to him, saying “ Why, Si, what are you doing outside ? 
Come in.” He came in quietly, and, closing the door, said : 


“ SI'S NUGGET. 


199 


“ Missus, I is alius a-doin’ suthin wrong. I might ha' 
know’d I’d scare ye. But t’other day the Injun who was 
packin’ water fer me, and is a mighty good man, fer an 
Injun, says ter me, thar was goin’ to be ‘ heap fire made of 
squaw’s house.’ So I jest made up my mind, any mean 
sneaks as 'ud want ter fire your house would find as how it 
’twarn’t an easy job.” 

Even as they were talking loud voices were heard on the 
road below. Si stopped to listen. After a serenade of 
coarse songs, the voices died away, and the crowd walked 
back to the camp. So it was arranged that Si should sleep 
at Mrs. Merilton’s cottage until things grew better. Kath- 
rine was urged for self-protection to come too, but she 
refused. Nervous, living in a state of fearful expectancy, 
insulted and abused by her half-drunken father, she still 
clung to the covenant made with her beloved mother. 

Lawlessness in an epidemic. Even the Chinamen work- 
ing up the gulch, usually a quiet and orderly set, caught 
the infection. They began squabbling among themselves. 
Pistol shots were often heard, yet no one* interfered, and 
when, one morning, a boy ran down to the camp to tell the 
sheriff and justice that lying in the road was the dead 
body of a Chinaman, he was told “ not to be a meddling 
fool : ” and then asked with a laugh, if “ poor Chinamen 
hadn’t a right to die ? ” 

But on second thoughts the most worthy justice and 
sheriff scented fees ; so an inquest was held. The deceased, 
it was unanimously decided, had come to his death by hands 
unknown. The fees were collected from the sale of the 
dead man’s effects, and his body was turned over to his 
countrymen for interment. Meanwhile at Mrs. Merilton’s 
there was a nightly preparation for an attack. Si slept in 
the sitting-room, and Eliza and Em went to bed with valu- 
ables and money secured on their persons, ready, at an 


200 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


instant’s notice, to take the children and fly to the mount- 
ains. Even the children were not wholly undressed, when 
they were put to sleep, during these terrible, anxious 
times. 

For the children’s sake, Mrs. Merilton would have gone 
on the stage to Nappias, until this turbulent fever had worn 
itself out. But there would have been equal danger in the 
trip, for the stage driver was but a boy, and completely 
terrorized by Captain Alcorn and his followers; the road 
was a long and lonely one ; and from his ally, the Indian, 
Si learned that an oath had been taken “ That any more 
rats leavin’ this ship would be shot down.” While he hardly 
believed they would dare to carry this threat into effect, he 
advised Mrs. Merilton to remain. Kathrine had tried to 
have a letter describing the state of affairs taken to Nappias, 
but the driver refused to carry it, and it was worse than 
useless to let it go through the inspection of Lieblin and 
his manager. “ They’d kill me, Miss Kathrine. I daren’t 
do it,” said the boy, and then he whispered “ as how he 
had hinted at things ” to the justice in Nappias, and had 
been answered : “ Have a petition made out and signed 
and perhaps the law would attend to the matter.” As the 
only signers to this petition would have been Eliza, Kath- 
rine and Si, and as the others in a counter petition would 
number three to one, there would be no use in this. The 
boy, moreover, would have been afraid to take it. Things 
grew so bad that finally Kathrine determined to ride into 
Nappias and make a personal appeal, but the driver refused 
to take her. 

“ Please don't, ma’am,” he said. “ Cap orders, as how on 
no accounts, miss, you was ter leave the camp.” As Kath- 
rine could get no horse ; Captain Alcorn, the sheriff, being 
the only man now who could afford to keep one ; she pro- 
posed walking. 


“ SI’S NUGGET. 


“ I’m not afraid. They would not dare to touch me,” 
she said. But Eliza implored her not to trifle with her life, 
and Si said : “ As fer daring, Miss Kath, it's not much o’ 
that they does, but they'd as lief kill yer as not, ’cause 
they're sure not ter be punished.” 

So after a protest she yielded. Si’s going was not thought 
of, for he was the only protection they had. The days were 
bad enough, but the nights were unendurable, when the wind, 
howling down the canyon, sounded the dirge of the camp, 
making Eliza start from restless dozing, and throw trem- 
bling arms about her sleeping children. “ Ef I had one 
other good man,” said Si, “ we 'ud soon put a stop ter this. 
A vigilance committee’s the thing. We alius has to have 
’em in these minin’ camps. 'Tain’t no use appealin’ ter the 
law. They’d swar black was white and prove their case. 
And law means money out here ! 'Sides, the law’s so orful 
slow. Ef I had a feller as ’ud stan’ up with me I’d go down 
this yer night and send them scamps a-scootin’. But I’m 
alone.” 

There was a break in his voice, and he covered his face 
with his hands. He was thinking of Bob, and so were they 
all. In the silence that fell upon the circle of friends Bob 
had a tribute of honor and respect. 

Every morning Si would go to the diggings. He had 
not yet found the pay streak, but he worked with the 
strength of three men. He could not give up. There was 
only a little time of grace left to find gold wherewith to pay 
the lawyer, for Nath’s trial would be in three weeks, and he 
must find a nugget. Each day as the old man started for 
work, Harry would say : 

“ Si, I hope you will find it to-day.” 

“ I expects to, Harry,” he would answer. It is this belief 
and hope that keep miners at work, making them brave 
fatigue, danger, death. Unmindful of the lapse of years, 


202 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


in this desperate gambling with Mother Earth, this blind 
game of chance, they realize that their youth is gone only 
when age is upon them. Then they must perforce hold to 
the old life ; it is too late to change. They are unfitted 
for any other work, and so keep on until death claims them 
as they stand, pick in hand. 

August was almost gone. The greesewood that grew 
profusely on the mountains had changed from green to a 
brilliant yellow. The camp had been quieter of late, and 
Eliza and Em breathed freer. The children were no longer 
prepared for a nightly flight, and Kathrine put her pistol in 
her trunk. Her father had fallen into a stupid state. 
Always under the influence of liquor, he rarely spoke or 
noticed her, receiving her services without comment and 
scarcely tasting the food she prepared. He was much 
changed. Through all their poverty he had looked the 
gentleman, but there was little of it now left in his red and 
bloated face, his unsteady step and careless toilet, but his 
daughter made no comments. She kept her tongue between 
her teeth, and was too sad for scorn. 

One morning Si started off to work, looking so tired and 
ill that Eliza tried to persuade him to rest. He would not 
rest, would not give up. 

“ No, no, missus, I’se workin’ to defen’ my Bob’s memory. 
I’ll die at the diggin’s, afore I loses a day,” he said. 

How she longed to open her purse and put what he 
needed in that honest hand ! But her funds were low ; so 
low that she and Em had held many a consultation as to 
what was best to do. She had after much hesitation finally 
decided to write to her brother of her situation. Forced to 
this decision by the necessity of providing for the dear 
children, she grew nervous, fearing she might in some 
way injure her husband, desiring, yet not daring, to delay. 
She was so nervous, that before writing her letter, she 


203 


SI'S NUGGET." 

joined Harry at the door, where he was bidding Si “ good- 
by.” 

She had come for a breath of fresh air, but somehow this 
morning there was no air stirring, and the sunshine was so 
hot, she urged the old man to remain indoors “just for 
to-day,” she said. 

“ No, no, missus ! I can not, I can not,” he answered. 
“ I must find a nugget. I must. P’raps I’ll find it to-day.” 

He started off as he spoke, but he walked more slowly 
than usual, as if he were tired out, or as if he were sick, 
enfeebled. When he reached the diggings he was exhausted. 
The sweat was rolling down his face as he threw himself on 
the hard stone to rest ; his heart was heavy and he felt ill ; 
but he must work. It was cool in the tunnel — he would 
soon be better. As he moved his head it struck against a 
hard rock, which made it throb and ache violently. For a 
long time he lay too sick to move. An hour passed, yet he 
felt no better. “ I must work,” he said, and then with 
effort, he sat up, holding his throbbing head. 

“ Is I goin’ ter be sick an’ give up, afore I make the 
money ter pay the lieyer ? No, I’ll get ter work. This yer 
is only darned foolishness.” He pulled himself up on his 
feet. 

When he took the pick in his hand he grew so deathly 
faint he would have fallen, but he caught hold of the rocks 
at his side and steadied himself. As he did so his foot 
struck against the same projecting rock that had hurt his 
head. 

“ You tarnel thing ! I’ll get yer up, ef I never does 
another lick,” he said, as he raised the pick and struck a 
blow that split the rock in two. It was only a thin stone, 
and when the pick broke it, the sharp end stuck in some- 
thing soft. Si gave it a pull, but it was fast. Shoveling 
away the loose stones and gravel, he raised the pick with a 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


204 

jerk. It was very heavy, and as the imbedded point came 
out of the earth it brought something clinging to it. A 
great lump of yellow gold ! 

“ Oh ! ” With a wild shriek, Si dropped the pick. Kneel- 
ing before it, he sobbed and kissed the precious metal, for 
which he had labored so long ! And there it had lain, just 
at his feet, all through these weary days. Days filled with 
terrible, exhausting labor and bitter, anxious thoughts. 
But at last he had struck it, and his illness and weakness 
were forgotten in his joy. 

“ There’s a God, I believe in Him now. Bob, Bob, 
nobody shall dar say you was a brawler, an’ warn’t mur- 
dered,” he sobbed. 

Then, carefully, not to lose a particle of the precious 
nugget, he took it off the pick. 

“ Was that a step ? ” He turned, his eyes almost start- 
ing from his head, as he hid the gold in his breast, putting 
his hand upon it. Springing to his feet he stood ready to 
kill the one who dared molest him now. The sweat came 
out over his head, and he glared, a lion at bay. But no — it 
was nothing. Si, who had ever laughed at danger, had been 
affrighted by a shadow. But he must not delay, they might 
come in a crowd, murder him, and steal the means of Bob’s 
defense. He clutched the gold tighter. He would go at 
once to Mrs. Merilton’s — she could take care of this precious 
thing. Bob would be all right, all right. How light his 
feet were ! The trail seemed to spin past him. There was 
the house ! God bless her ! He would soon be there, 
he muttered to himself as he hurried along, staggering as 
he went. 

“ Why, mamma, what’s wrong ? Si’s running ! ” called 
out Harry. 

At his words Eliza and Kathrine hastened to the door. 
Yes, there was Si, running like a madman, both hands 


“ SI’S NUGGET. 


205 


clutching his breast. With bated breath they waited. 
What was it now ? Oh God, save us ! Nearer he came, like 
some wild creature ! His hat had fallen off, his eyes were 
starting from their sockets. He reached the open door, 
entered and shouted out in his old voice, “ I’ve struck it ! ” 
dropped helpless at their feet. 

Eliza’s first impulse was to assist the fainting man ; 
Kathrine’s to see if Si’s strange action had aroused suspic- 
ion in the camp, or if any one was near enough to hear his 
words. Yes, down in the road, walking leisurely along, was 
Alcorn. The very man she most dreaded had heard poor 
Si’s shout of joy. The man who would hesitate at no crime 
to obtain Si’s treasure. As he saw her, he raised his hat 
and bowed profoundly. She did not notice his salute, but 
stood watching to see which way he would go. 

With a wicked smile of triumph he bowed again and 
walked rapidly down toward the saloon. “ He has heard ! ” 
As Katharine said this half aloud, a cold chill ran over her; 
then with a determined compression of the lips, “ Now to 
protect ourselves,” she said, and then stopped, asking her- 
self the question : 

“ How ? with Si sick ! ” 

Yet even as she spoke she had formed a plan that 
admitted of no delay. 

She looked back into the room. Si was still unconscious, 
and Eliza and Em were attending him. Then with every 
nerve quivering she walked quietly down to her cabin. As 
quickly as possible she secured, not only her own pistol, but 
all the ammunition in the house, large knives, and a gun her 
father had brought up a few nights ago, and which she 
knew belonged to “ Saloon Jimmy.” This gun she held 
closely to her right side, so that it could not be seen from 
the camp, and walked up the trail as unconcernedly as if 
she had only gone for the hat she had put on. 


206 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


When she reached the house Si was sitting up drinking a 
cup of tea Em had brought to him. Harry stood at his side 
stroking his hair, and baby Hannah was patting his knee 
and calling him “ My pitty Si ! ” 

How ill the old man looked ! Kathrine’s heart sank as 
she thought of the attack she expected, but she was indeed 
“ a plucky one,” and smiled down on him as he drank his 
tea. 

He tried to speak to her, moving the hand which even in 
unconsciousness he had held clutching his breast. “ In a 
moment, Si,” she said, as, calling Eliza, she went with her 
into the next room, where without disturbing Si she could tell 
her of her new fear. For, despite her delicate frame, she 
knew Eliza to be a heroic woman, and she wished to spare 
her a sudden shock, should Alcorn attack the house. 
That he would attempt to capture Si’s “ find ” they neither 
of them could doubt, nor that in the camp’s present con- 
dition, he would have ready helpers. 

“ We must be prepared,” Eliza said quietly. 

She brought Owen’s pistol, adding it to their little stock 
of weapons, and then both went back to Si. 

They would not trouble him just yet, for he looked 
almost happy, with the two children petting him, Em smiling 
kindly upon him, and in his breast that potent weapon 
which was to defend the memory of Bob. So Kathrine closed 
the front door, and then sat down, waiting for Si to speak. 
Tears stood in his eyes ; he tried to say something, but 
choked ; then, without a word, he drew out the hand from 
his breast and put in her lap the great lump of shining 
gold. 

“ Si, I congratulate you,” Kathrine exclaimed ; “ you need 
never again be a poor man.” 

“ Half yours,” said Si, and then broke down completely. 
No one spoke, except little Hannah, who kept patting his 


“ si's nugget: 


207 


knee and calling him her sweet baby pet names, and grad- 
ually the old man grew calmer, when Kathrine asked : 

“ What shall we do with this, Si ? ” 

“ Hide it fer ter-night, Miss Kath, I feels so weak an’ 
quar’,” he replied. 

Darkening the room they left him to sleep, while they all 
went into Em’s kitchen to decide where to hide the treasure. 
Em was told of their fears about Alcorn. “ I jest know’d 
it, fer I dreamed las’ night — ” But Em stopped, even in 
the midst of her dream-telling, to try to find a safe hiding 
place for the nugget. They dared not bury it among the 
rocks, for the whole mountain side was in full view of the 
saloon. A dozen places were suggested and rejected as 
unsafe. Finally, Em held up her hands in delight. 

“ I’se got it ! ” Springing up, she began to empty the 
chips out of a large box that stood in the store-room. It 
was always open and would never be suspected ; and in an 
iron pot, at the very bottom, under the carefully replaced 
chips, the gold was left in safety. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


“ A PROPOSITION FROM THE CITIZENS.” 

D AY was darkening into night. The children, not know- 
ing anxious care, were fast asleep, and Si had wakened 
refreshed, from a doze. Sitting near the lounge, Eliza was 
quietly telling him their fears that Alcorn had heard, and 
would, if possible, rob him ; and Kathrine, outside the 
closed door, was peering through the darkness. The heavy 
curtains were drawn, that no glimmer of light could escape 
from the house, and their watchfulness be suspected down 
in the camp. 

There was no moon. The air seemed alive with strange 
sounds, strange noises, the night brings into existence, 
that in the bright sunshine we do not notice. Half- 
forgotten sounds of childhood came to Kathrine’s lis- 
tening ears — even to the croaking of the frogs around the 
pond, where, as a little girl, she had spent one of the few 
happy holidays of her life. Time passed ; she was grow- 
ing tired of the needless watch, for nothing disturbed the 
silence, except the sounds of her own fancy. 

The town was exceptionally quiet. Perhaps she had been 
mistaken. Alcorn may not have heard Si’s words. Perhaps 
Si’s wild race over the trail to Mrs. Merilton’s cottage might 
not have awakened suspicion. 

She had just decided to go indoors, and laugh at her own 
fears, when, down by the mill, in the darkness, something 
darker was moving. There were several objects, and so 
quietly and cautiously they came, there was not even the 


“ A PROPOSITION FROM THE CITIZENS. 


209 


sound of a rolling stone, so she tapped on the window. It 
was the signal to put out the light, and in an instant she was 
inside, with the door locked. 

“ They are coming ! They are walking across the mount- 
ains, and not up by the trail," she whispered, as if the very 
air held listeners. 

Si started to his feet ; but he fell back faint and ill. 

“ Don’t fear, missus,” he said, looking in Eliza’s pale face ; 
“ I’m better now than a dead man. When I hears the voices 
o’ the villains, my strength’ll come back. Don’t fear." 

While he was speaking, Kathrine and Em put the sleep- 
ing children on a bed on the floor, making a barricade of 
the puppies and Nell, and surrounding them with pillows. 

“ There will be shooting soon, God keep them safe ! " 
whispered Kathrine. Then they returned to the sitting- 
room where, apparently stronger, Si had a pistol ready for 
use. Eliza took hers, and, giving Em her own to hold, 
Kathrine loaded the gun to the muzzle. “ We will fire this 
first," she said. “ Perhaps it may frighten them, if they find 
we intend to resist." She took up her station close to the 
door. “ If they force it, I will be the nearest to them,” she 
thought. 

Eliza did not speak. Her lips were moving in prayer. 
She had looked at her darlings, peacefully slumbering, with 
the dogs cuddled around them, Nellie blinking as if to say, 
she’d do her best to protect the babies. Every precaution 
had been taken for their safety, mattresses had been put 
against the windows, and furniture disposed to shelter the 
nest where her children were lying ! 

“ Protect them, oh God, protect them ! " she prayed, as 
she kissed them tenderly, and then went back to take her 
place with the others, silently waiting for the attack. 

A loose stone rolling and a muttered curse gave notice 
that their enemies were near. Si was on his feet now, his 


210 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


eyes bright with fever, its false strength bringing back some- 
thing like his natural vigor. At his order the lamp was 
lowered until objects were barely distinguishable, as he whis- 
pered, “ Ef it wasn’t fer you an’ Miss Kath, missus, I’d jest 
go out an’ knock down the whole lot. They couldn’t take 
nothin’ but my life, an’ now I has found the nugget ter de- 
fen’ Bob, I don’t value my life.” 

Then he stopped, for in the silent room could be dis- 
tinctly heard the voices outside, in low consultation. 

A rap at the door, a call, “ Miss Gordon, Miss Gordon, 
yer father’s sick an’ wants yer ! ” 

No answer. 

Then a strong hand caught the knob of the door and 
shook it. But, locked and barricaded, the door did not yield. 
This was followed by more consultation among the attack- 
ers, who burst into a roar of laughter at Em’s : “ P’raps ef 
yer’ll go to her cabin yer’ll fin’ Miss Gordon thar.” 

The laugh Em’s advice awakened, put the ruffians in 
better humor, and so changeable is the nature of men like 
these that, finding the supposed victims prepared and deter- 
mined to defend themselves, some of the attacking party 
proposed to go back to the saloon and “ make a night of 
it.” Kathrine’s ear was close to the key hole ; she was try- 
ing to catch every word. She heard the men propose “ to 
give up the job,” and Alcorn, with his honeyed tones, expos- 
tulate with them. Finally, after failing with empty prom- 
ises, he swore that if they helped him in this, he would di- 
vide “ fair and square with them. Si Doone wouldn’t have 
lost his head for nothing. I tell you it’s a big find ! Then 
we run no risk. Si has been sick for some time, and the 
others are only a parcel of women.” Alcorn spoke softly, 
but Kathrine caught each word. 

His appeal was followed by “ Hear ! Hear ! ” shouted in 
a drunken voice, which was immediately hushed. Then 


“ A PROPOSITION FROM THE CITIZENS. 


21 1 


was held a conference among the besiegers. Their calcu- 
lation had been to force an entrance and surprise the house- 
hold, but, unprepared for resistance, they were uncertain how 
to proceed. Presently Alcorn spoke aloud. 

Coming close to the door, Kathrine, on the other side, 
heard it creak, as he pushed it, and she threw her weight 
against it, to add to its resistance. 

“ Si Doone,” said Alcorn, in his pleasantest tones, “ we 
have come to make a proposition to you. Will you come 
out and speak to us ? ” 

“ He is too ill,” answered Kathrine. 

“Then, Miss Gordon, will you let me in ?” 

“ If you will come alone,” she replied quickly. 

There was a moment’s hesitation. “ Very well,” an- 
swered Alcorn. “ I am ready.” 

Kathrine peeping through the curtain saw three figures 
in the porch, close to the door. 

“ Captain Alcorn, we have reconsidered the matter ; you 
will have to speak outside,” she said determinedly. 

“ Curse you ! ” he muttered ; then in a louder voice : “ Si 
Doone, this camp’s in a desperate condition. It has neither 
money nor provisions. The men have no food to give their 
starving wives and children. As a man of peace, I implore 
you to share your good luck with these unhappy friends. 
They will pledge themselves to consider it a loan, and re- 
turn it as soon as fortune smiles upon them. Do you agree, 
my friends ? ” 

“ We do ! ” shouted several voices — rather strong and 
hearty voices, considering the starving condition of their 
owners. 

“ Do you agree, Si Doone ? Will you come to the rescue 
of this despairing camp ? ” Alcorn called in his pleasant 
voice. 

“ Si Doone requests me to reply for him,” Kathrine spoke, 


212 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


and so clearly that every one could hear her words. “ He 
found some good gravel, but was too ill to take much out. 
He and I agree to give any man what he can make out of it. 
To-morrow I will go to the claim with the men, and with Si 
Doone’s directions will show them the exact spot.” 

“ We don’t take yer terms ! ” shouted the crowd. “ Let 
Si Doone fork out, or we’ll make him.” 

“ Could you make him give what he has not ? ” Kathrine 
asked calmly. 

“ Oh, we don’t want any more lip ! We wants cash,” 
called a ruffian. 

“ Yes, cash ! ” shouted the crowd. 

“ My dear Miss Gordon,” called out Captain Alcorn, “ I 
can no longer restrain these starving and desperate men. 
Open the door ; let them search the house. They don’t 
desire to harm any one.” 

“ Let them come to-morrow, in the daylight, then, and 
they shall search the house,” Kathrine answered. 

“ Bah ! ” Then went up a great yell, and the crowd, who 
a few moments before were anxious to give up the attack, 
now, like wild beasts, were ready to destroy whatever stood 
in their way. 

“ Down on your faces,’’ whispered Si. 

They had barely time to obey his order, when pistols were 
discharged by the rioters. The balls came crashing through 
the glass and whizzing, harmless, over their heads. In a 
second more Kathrine fired the gun. With its loud report it 
startled the besiegers, making them feel that this night 
attack was not child’s play, and that those they had come 
to terrify were provided with defenses. Si sent a pistol shot 
following Kathrine’s gun. The lamp was extinguished and 
they were all in utter darkness, but they knew Si’s bullet 
had hit its mark, for there was a groan heard outside, and 
considerable swearing. 


“ A PROPOSITION FROM THE CITIZENS. 


213 


“ Have yer had enough, or 'ud yer like more ? ” shouted 
Si, discharging another bullet, which awakened another 
oath. 

A man tried to jump in at the window, but Si knocked 
him back. He fell against some one and there was a 
scramble, cursings, and then whisperings. Several threw 
themselves against the door. It creaked, yielded, and they 
would have forced an entrance had not Si and Kathrine 
fired through the opening. Quickly the shots followed each 
other, and quickly they were answered. But the besieged 
had a decided advantage ; for they had made some sort of 
barricade of the furniture, and looking through the bullet 
holes in door and window, could see the attacking party. 

Infuriated at the defense, and maddened by slight 
wounds, the ruffians responded with a wild yell, when a voice 
called out, “ Fire the house ! ” 

Then followed a hurried gatheringtogether of sage brush, 
which was piled around the little frame building. A notch 
was lighted, the dry brush kindled. With a crackling .** 
sound the flame ascended, throwing a lurid light on the 
human fiends shouting with exultation over their work, 
when suddenly a deep voice thundered “ Villains ! Cut- 
throats,” and strong arms thrust into the flames a man who, 
at that moment, was adding fuel to the fire. Then a tall 
figure, evidently that of the leader, was grasped, lifted from 
his feet, and dashed against the rocks, helpless as one dead. 
This counter attack was so sudden, so unexpected, that the 
ruffians, seeing men, and not knowing how many were in 
the party, turned and fled, leaving the new-comers in pos- 
session of the field. 

Tearing the burning brush from the house and trampling 
it under foot, the two men — for there were but two — were 
surprised by the opening of the door and the appearance of 
a woman. Lit up by the flames she looked very tall, and 


214 


A PLUCKY ONE. 




very beautiful. Startled by such a vision, at such a moment^ 
the men stopped aghast. Was it possible the fiends were 
striving to burn up a woman ! Neither spoke, both stared 
in amazement, as she exclaimed, “ You have saved us/’ her 
voice sounding like an organ, it was so rich and full. 
Recovering himself, the taller of the men took off his hat, 
and said courteously : “ I have come to Cetewayo, seeking 

my sister. Can you tell me where Mrs. Merilton ” The 

words were hardly spoken, when, with a glad cry, rushing 
past Kathrine, Eliza was clasped in her brother’s arms. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


“A knight comes into the wilderness." 

F ^IRST looking to see the driver bending over the man 
he had thrown into the burning brush, and then glanc- 
ing at the motionless form of the other assailant, the new- 
comer carried his sister into the house. 

Even in that moment of amazement, he was shocked at 
the change in her. Was it possible that this frail creature 
was the fair and rosy girl who had smiled through her tears 
when she had bid “ good-by ” to him and Old Virginia ! he 
thought, as Eliza, once more held in tender, protecting 
arms, whispered her explanation and excuse for Owen. 

“ He knows nothing of all this. Every thing was quiet 
and comfortable when he left. And, oh ! William, they 
have stopped my letters. I’ve not heard from him for over 
six months.” 

“ He is all right, my darling. I am here now by his 
request. But,” he added, seeing Si’s ghastly face, “ this 
man is very ill. Let me look first to him.” 

Giving a handshake to good old Em, the doctor bent 
over the couch. Si had fallen back, his eyes partly open, 
his breath coming in faint gasps. He appeared a dying 
man and Dr. Knowlton looked very serious, as, with a hand 
on his pulse, he said : 

“ We must get him to bed at once. Where can we put 
him, Em ? ” 

“ In my room, sah,” Em answered, bowing and smiling 
in her delight in having Mars William near. 


21 6 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Perfectly unable to help himself, Si was muttering inco- 
herently as Dr. Knowlton, with Em’s and Kathrine’s help, 
placed him on the bed, where soon with skillful hands 
he made him comfortable, and from a small case in his 
pocket took some medicine. He then left him for a 
moment to bestow needed attention elsewhere. As he 
was about to walk from the room, he turned to Kathrine : 
“ Before I look after those villains, I must shake hands 
with Miss Gordon. I’m sure it is Miss Gordon,” he said, 
extending his hand and taking hers in a firm, cordial 
clasp. “I have read too much of you in my sister’s 
letters not to know you at sight.” 

And he smiled as he stood before her. He was very tall. 
She, who was so tall herself, had to look up to him, and as 
she did so she met a pair of brown eyes laughing down at 
her. They softened and brightened a rather stern face, 
and were so full of merriment that involuntarily she 
smiled an answer to them — a smile as bright and happy 
as if she knew not care. 

“ How strong you are ! ” he said. “ When you offered 
to help me with our friend, the giant, I was on the verge 
of laughing at you. But she did her full share, Eliza.” 
He caressed the sweet face pressed against his arm, and 
laid his hand tenderly over the two thin ones clasping his 
wrist. 

Then he started off, saying, with a pleasant laugh : 

“ Now for the villains ! And then you must tell me your 
story — how it is that I find you like ladies of the olden 
times, holding your fortress against besieging armies.” 

Lying on the step outside, Dr. Knowlton found the man 
that he had knocked down, conscious, but very weak from 
loss of blood. In falling he had struck his head on a 
stone, narrowly escaping a fatal cut. It was an ugly gash, 
from which the blood was still freely flowing, and needed 


“ A KNIGHT COMES INTO THE WILDERNESS." 217 

immediate attention. He turned to get his valise from the 
carriage, and found it lying nearly at his feet, while car- 
riage, horses and driver had disappeared. 

The other man lay quite still. 

“ He is either drunk or dead. Brutes ! they deserve 
death,” he thought, while, in a business-like manner and 
with delicate touch, he was dressing the wounded head as 
only a skillful surgeon could. 

As the light from the open door fell on the man’s face, 
he was surprised to find it rather good-looking. 

“ This man is the wonderful Captain Alcorn, I’ll wager,” 
he said to himself, as pouring out something into a giass 
Em had brought him, he spoke to him the one word : 

“ Drink ! ” The voice was stern and commanding, but 
Alcorn was too weak to do any thing but obey. Besides, 
he felt terror at the possible results of this night’s work. 
The man looking down at him was no impulsive boy. His 
face was cold and stern, and the searching eyes fixed upon 
his had not a vestige of softness in them. He was of a 
different make from Owen Merilton. In all his pain he 
knew this. “ I’ve one card left in this game,” he mut- 
tered, and weak as he was, Alcorn chuckled to himself. 

“ Get up,” said Dr. Knowlton. 

“ I can not,” answered the captain, after an ineffectual 
effort. 

Taking hold of his arm the doctor assisted him to his 
feet, and into the sitting-room. 

“ Excuse me,” he said to his sister and Kathrine, “for 
bringing this wretch into your presence. But I want him 
to recover sufficiently to start with me, this night, for the 
county jail.” 

As he spoke a sneer passed over Alcorn’s face. His 
fear was growing greater, but he still held his card. Just 
then the driver came to the door. He was panting 


2l8 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


from his hurried walk up the hill, as he called to the 
doctor. 

“ Do you want me, doctor ? I just went to put up the 
horses. I found there wasn’t a horse in the camp. And 
mine’ll need a few hours’ rest before we starts for Broncho, 
where the jail is, for we can’t change our team for forty 
miles, sir.” 

“Very well, we’ll wait. This man will be all the more 
able to take the trip, after a few more doses of this 
tonic,” the doctor replied. 

“ I refuse to take the tonic,” said Alcorn. 

“ Refuse as much as you please, but take it you shall. 
You are my prisoner as well as my patient, and I am quite 
able to see that my directions are carried out,” were the 
doctor’s quiet words. 

“ Do you intend to take the others to prison ? ” Alcorn 
asked, as his expression changed to brutality. 

“ Only the ringleaders of this outrage. These I will 
take, as it is not safe to leave them. Against the others 
1 will proceed with the law,” said Dr. Knowlton. 

“ What will you do with the man who fired the first brand, 
and now lies in safety outside ? ” asked Alcorn, playing his 
card and wondering if it would take the trick. 

“ Is he alive ? ” Dr. Knowlton turned to the driver, who 
had been examining the fallen man. 

“ Yes, sir. He is alive, but sound asleep. I believe he 
is drunk.” 

Kathrine and Eliza were sitting side by side, and Em 
was leaning on her mistress’s chair. They were all looking 
at Dr. Knowlton, feeling a true woman’s comfort in the 
presence of such a strong, efficient protector, feeling the 
comfort of his masculinity. No more battling for them. 
Here was one with mind, character, physical force, come to 
direct and care for them. They each appreciated this, even 


“ A KNIGHT COMES INTO THE WILDERNESS." 219 

Kathrine, who was a stranger to him. He controlled and 
commanded as by right, giving his orders in the quiet 
tones of one used to obedience. 

“ Can you waken the man and bring him in? ” he asked of 
the driver. 

“ I’ll try, sir,” the man answered. 

Silently they all waited until, after much shaking and 
pulling, the driver brought in the man. 

Half asleep, wholly drunk, held up by tjie driver, he was 
a disgusting object as he hiccoughed : “What’s the matter ?” 

At his entrance, Kathrine, pale as marble, started to her 
feet. 

“ Father,” she cried, in an agony of shame, and buried 
her face in her hands. 

Dr. Knowlton stepped back amazed. 

Was it possible that this brute was the father of that 
noble creature ? When she first appeared in the doorway, 
he had thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever 
seen; now, with her head bent low in bitterest shame, her 
face hidden in her hands, the sight of her humiliation made 
his blood tingle with a strange excitement. 

Eliza had risen with her friend and clasped her arms 
close around her. Tears were pouring down Em’s face ; 
even the driver’s eyes were full, and he wiped them with 
the back of his hand. 

Alcorn looked anxiously from one to the other. His card 
was down. Would he win ? 

For a second there was stillness in the room, broken only 
by the heavy breathing of Mr. Gordon. Then with a face 
white as the one Kathrine was hiding, Dr. Knowlton went 
to her. 

“ Forgive me the pain I have caused you,” he said softly, 
and he took her hands and held them for a moment in his 


own. 


220 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


With sneers distorting his mouth, Alcorn was watching 
them, as some devil might watch a heaven-born impulse. 
He saw her yield her hands to this stranger’s clasp, and 
over her face, through all its shame, a certain softness steal, 
that had never been there before. And he, the looker-on 
whom she despised, hated them both. He longed to kill 
her ; no manner of death could be brutal enough to satisfy 
the raging passions in his breast. And yet, through all this 
ferocity, he felt he would have given his life to have had 
those fingers rest in his with the same soft, clinging touch. 
He knew he had won the game, but in this moment’s des- 
perate rage he had forgotten it. 

Standing before Kathrine, as if to hide from her that pit- 
iable object in the corner, Dr. Knowlton turned to Alcorn 
and said : 

“ Mrs. Merilton will not at present prosecute you. But 
attempt any more lawlessness, and I will myself make a 
special plea against you, as the stirrer up of evil deeds. 
Now go.” 

Slowly, and with difficulty, because of his weakness — with 
greater difficulty, because of these frightful passions, that 
made his soul their plaything — Alcorn left the house. 

“ I will see you in the morning, I want to try your team,” 
and Dr. Knowlton, taking the driver’s place, bade him 
“ good-night.” 

As soon as he had gone, Kathrine, with a shudder, raised 
her eyes, and saw Dr. Knowlton supporting her father. 

“ Let me take him away — pray do,” she said, as she hurried 
toward him. “ Oh, let me take him ; I am strong enough.” 

Dr. Knowlton did not seem to hear her, although her 
pleading voice and her paling and flushing face affected him 
powerfully. 

“ Would you not rather have him in your own house ? 
Tell me which way to go,” he asked. 


“ A KNIGHT COMES INTO THE WILDERNESS 221 


Mr. Gordon’s head was resting on the doctor’s shoulder. 
He was again sound asleep. There could hardly be imag- 
ined a more repulsive object than this gray-haired man; yet 
the doctor did not seem to notice it. He was absorbed in 
looking at the woman’s face with its downcast eyes, from 
which the tears were slowly dropping. Her hands were 
clasped in entreaty. She could not bear to have him hold 
this which she knew filled him with disgust, but when in 
quiet tones he said : 

“ Will you lead the way ? ” There was nothing to do but 
to submit. So she turned meekly to do his bidding, as 
Eliza, with a tender kiss, whispered to her : 

“ Let me see you early in the morning.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


“that delicious world.” 

D R. KNOWLTON not only carried Mr. Gordon to his 
cabin, but put him in bed for the night, goingabout his 
task as if he were attending to the sick. And surely he had 
of all sicknesses the deadliest ! There was nothing for 
Kathrine to do but to sit quietly and watch him ; and in 
noting the ease with which he managed the wretched man, 
she almost forgot herself, and her shame. 

He did not once look toward her, but gave his whole 
attention to the figure on the bed, until, the duty over, he 
put some powders in Gordon’s mouth, and measured out 
several more, which he placed on the window sill, with a 
leaf from his book, on which he had written something. 
Then he left him and went to Kathrine, standing by her 
chair, and bowing down earnestly upon her. As he drew 
near Kathrine, her shame came back to her and she turned 
her head away. She tried to speak to thank him ; but 
though her heart was full of gratitude, she could not think 
of a word to say. 

“ Miss Gordon, are you angry ? ” 

What a wonderful voice ; a little while since so cold, and 
now soft and tender. In listening to his voice she forgot 
to answer. 

“ Miss Gordon, won’t you speak to me, look at me ? ” 

She tried to raise her eyes, but there seemed a weight 
upon her lids. She, whose life had been a continuous bat- 
tle, who, in doing man’s duty, had endured man’s trials. 


“ THAT' DELICIOUS WORLD . 


223 


was now overpowered by a strange, sweet shyness that pre- 
vented speech. He had taken her hand and held it ; she 
did not withdraw it. In all her life she had never been so 
happy as at that moment. In all his life he had never had 
such a temptation as at that moment to kiss those downcast 
lids. 

If any one, a day ago, had foretold that Dr. Knowlton, 
a man eminent in his profession, whose medical works 
ranked high throughout the scientific world, would stand 
trembling at the touch of a woman’s hand, he would have 
pronounced the prophet a lunatic. “We know not what we 
may be.” 

And Dr. Knowlton was transformed. He no longer 
recognized himself. He waited for a moment, but the 
black lashes still rested on the white cheeks. He wanted 
to look into her eyes — but yet he was not displeased, for 
her face was full of a softness that made his blood hot. 
Gently he placed the hand he held on the one lying in her 
lap, rested his for a moment on them both, and was gone. 

The fresh night air and his sister’s voice calling “Wil- 
liam,” “ William,” brought him back to himself from that 
delicious world in which his soul had touched Katherine’s. 
Eliza was waiting for him at the open door. 

“ I feared something was wrong, dear, you were so long,” 
she said. 

Was it long ? To him it had seemed but a moment. He 
was excited, happy, yet he answered her quietly : 

“ Nothing is wrong, except that the old man is very feeble. 
He may die any day. It is incomprehensible how some 
men in such a low state of vitality will manage to live, 
while others, apparently robust, go out of life as the flame 
of a candle. But if Mr. Gordon continues his excesses he 
can not live long. It would be a good thing for Miss Gor- 
don if he died.” 


224 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ No, no,” Eliza said. “ If he died Kathrine would torture 
herself with reproaches ; she would be sure she had failed 
in some duty. Should he die while they are poor, her 
future would be imbittered in remembering her inability to 
give him the comforts he craves. Her whole life is a sacri- 
fice to that selfish man. At her mother’s death-bed she 
took up the duties which had broken her mother’s heart. 
And nobly she has fulfilled them.” 

Thus sitting near this dear brother, she told him as much 
as she herself knew of Kathrine’s life, and described the 
different causes which had brought Cetewayo to its present 
condition and made Mr. Gordon sink to this depth. 

“ Since Captain Alcorn was thwarted in his attempt to 
jump Kathrine’s ledge, he has gotten Mr. Gordon com- 
pletely in his power. He was always a most selfish man, 
undeserving of his daughter’s noble sacrifices, but until 
lately he was not a drunkard.” So Eliza made her plea 
for the father of her friend. 

“ Women are strange inconsistencies,” said Dr. Knowl- 
ton. “ The noblest of them sacrifice their useful lives to 
some selfish brute, who does not heed this immolation. 
They do this from a sense of duty, and generally sacrifice 
some other life with theirs. Surely Kathrine Gordon has a 
lover somewhere who is wasting his life in loneliness while 
she sacrifices hers ? ” 

Dr. Knowlton, speaking in his calm, matter-of-fact voice, 
awaited his sister’s answer with a choking sensation about 
his throat. 

“ A lover ! ” Eliza smiled. “ She has too great a con- 
tempt for men. She is not always expressing her opinion, 
but I never knew a woman who as heartily despised men 
and admired women. Harry calls her his Kath, and fully 
intends to marry her.” 

Eliza would have been amazed could she have known 


THAT DELICIOUS WORLD.” 


225 


what intense relief her words gave her brother. He smiled 
quietly as if amused at Harry’s notion, but his heart was 
full of a new delight. She has no lover ! She is free ! 
the grave, learned doctor was thinking exultantly. This is 
a world of pretenses. We hide our true selves even from 
our nearest and dearest. It is only some violent emotion 
that tears down the veil and shows us as we really are. 
Thus Dr. Knowlton, with a voice of gladness singing in his 
heart, held himself quietly, seeming to listen only to Eliza. 
The brother and sister sat talking late into the night, while 
Em watched beside Si, calling the doctor at any change in 
the sick man. After a little Si rested quietly and Em dozed 
on watch while the two still talked on. 

William told his sister that her letters had, for the past 
three months, been very irregular, and then stopped alto- 
gether. Not hearing from her he had determined to go to 
Nevada, and on the eve of starting he had received a letter 
from Owen imploring him to go at once to Cetewayo to see 
if any thing was wrong with Eliza, for he had written con- 
stantly, had twice sent checks for considerable amounts of 
money, but had heard nothing from her for three months. 
The man with whom he had gone to Europe was lying at 
death’s door and could not be left among strangers, or he 
would have started at once for America. Until the last few 
days he had not felt very anxious, as they had gone to a 
small village in Switzerland nearly four months before. In 
this village Mr. Howell had been taken very ill, and there 
had been delays and mistakes in forwarding their mail. 
But when it reached him and he found no letters from his 
wife, he was wild with terror lest something had happened 
to her. If any thing was amiss the doctor was to cable him 
at once. At her brother’s words joy entered Eliza’s heart. 
He lived and loved her ! The hunted look left her eyes, and 
her face, in spite of its delicacy, appeared once more natural. 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


226 

“ Come, take a peep at the children,” she said, leading him 
into the bedroom, which, restored to its wonted order, held 
in their cribs the rosy, smiling sleepers. 

“ They have flourished,” Dr. Knowlton said, and his eyes, 
resting on his sister, emphasized his thoughts. 

She smiled back, her own bright self again. She was 
cured now, she knew it, and slipping her hand in his, led 
him back to his seat. Then they talked of Owen’s mining 
ventures, and Eliza frankly told the facts. 

“ Our first investment, ‘ The California,’ which we bought 
of Captain Alcorn, was simply a fraud. Owen trusted him 
and was deceived. But the ‘ Giant Mine ’ is an excellent 
property, and if his partners had held to their word, Owen 
would have raised a good working capital, and realized far 
more than he lost.” 

“ And what, little sister, do you call a good working capi- 
tal ? It seems to me that where there are no roads to build, 
where there’s a mill ready to start up, and what is termed 
1 pay rock ’ in sight, a few thousands ought to be good work- 
ing capital.” 

“ Wait, wise doctor, until you go a-mining. Almost all 
who do attempt mining, make that mistake, for in mining a 
good many thousands have to be expended before we can 
expect interest on the invested money. First, the mine must 
be opened up, so that the rock, even if very rich, can be 
taken out in sufficient quantities to keep a mill running. A 
small number of men, at Nevada prices, make a great item 
at the end of the month. Then every thing is expensive in 
this country, and mining supplies mount up to a consider- 
able figure. It was this consideration that made Owen de- 
termine that when he again started mining operations he 
would open a store, which would supply the men, so even 
when, as in most mines, the ore gets into poorer streaks, 
there would be coming back some returns, some profits. 


THAT DELICIOUS WORLD. 


227 


( i 


Miners are very extravagant, will deny themselves no fancy, 
and their employers, by supplying them, may as well take 
this other chance of success. Of course, in large companies, 
where the shares are sold to the public and the mine be- 
comes a matter of speculation, there exists no necessity of 
opening a store. The holders are assessed, and either pay 
or are sold out.” 

“ And the poorer devils always sacrificed.” 

“ Alas ! yes,” answered Eliza. 

“Tell me something of this ledge of Miss Gordon’s,” her 
brother said suddenly. 

“ For that I will quote Si. He has been mining for the 
last thirty years, he says : has worked in some of the now 
famous mines, and he has never seen such a prospect as 
‘ The Monster.’ Yet Si declares that, with all its fine show- 
ing, Owen would be foolish to start work on it with less 
than $50,000 which he could draw on if necessary. There 
is a tunnel of seventy-five feet, fifteen of which are in the 
ledge, and in the face of the tunnel the rock is immensely 
rich. Then there is a shaft sunk nearly thirty-five feet, all 
on ore. The very poorest of it will go over $20.” 

Dr. Knowlton was watching her and smiling at her earn- 
estness. 

Catching his look, she said : “ I’ll show you a sample, not 
a specimen. Si broke it off himself ; and when you know 
the good old man, you’ll rely on his word, as we all do.” 

Saying this she brought her brother a piece of red rock 
studded all over with gold. 

There is a strange, an almost irresistible temptation in 
the possibility of acquiring great riches. Dr. Knowlton was 
a philosopher, a man of wealth, which was partly inherited, 
partly acquired in the profession to which from boyhood he 
had been devoted, and now, in the prime of his life, the 
maturity of vigorous manhood, he had considered him- 


228 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


self removed from chances and uncertainties : too far be- 
yond sudden or violent emotions to ever have stirred out of 
its easy flow the quiet current of his life. 

Yet he, the quiet scholar, was holding a bit of rock in his 
hands, and, as if there were magic in its touch, his life with 
its past, its purposes, its great research, was swept aside 
like a cobweb obscuring the sun — a new-born, uncontroll- 
able impulse stirring him into a fresh existence. Was it 
alone the rock with its wealth of gold ? No. 

Out of that rock there looked into his soul a pair of won- 
derful eyes ; there arose in his fancy all a woman’s noble 
ambition, those dreams that Kathrine had breathed into 
Eliza’s ear, and which had lost nothing in her sweet repe- 
tition to her brother. 

He had believed himself old, but love’s magic brings back 
youth. 

For Dr. Knowlton, looking at the rock and listening to the 
promptings of an impulse stronger and madder than ever 
stirred his youth, sprang from the quiet of observation, 
into the wildest whirling of life’s current, and startled his 
sister out of dreams of Owen by saying : 

“ Eliza, I shall buy one-fourth of Miss Gordon’s ledge and 
go into mining.” 

“ Is it possible ? ” Eliza was too much surprised to know 
if she were pleased. She had always looked upon her 
brother with the respect and admiration that a child feels 
for an honored parent. To her he had seemed to be above 
the cares and annoj^ances of ordinary morals. Absorbed in 
his profession, he had ever been tender and loving to her, 
but it was the affection of a man who had left behind him 
all the exactions of love. Sought after, courted, though he 
was, he rarely went into society, and the romance of his 
life, if it had had a romance, was buried in the grave where 
a stately column rose over “ Sybil, wife of William Knowl- 


u THAT DELICIOUS WORLD." 


229 


ton.” Then, too, Dr. Knowlton had ever decried specula- 
tion as ruinous to the chances of happiness, and while 
never descending to the commonplace of cynicism, had 
always seemed amused at love and its attendant follies. 
Yet now, in the touching of a piece of rock, he had declared 
his intention of joining Folly’s own throng, and followed up 
his declaration by saying in the quietest tones imaginable : 

“ I shall buy it at once, and commence operations as soon 
as Si is able to take charge of the mine. To-morrow I will 
write my agent to sell United States bonds to the amount of 
fifty thousand dollars.” 

Eliza’s amazed expression recalled him to the necessity of 
at least seeming to be in his sober senses, and as a sort of 
explanation he said : 

“ I blamed Owen for going into mining because he had 
the responsibility of a family, and sacrificed his entire busi- 
ness relations. Then he is, by nature, too trustful and gen- 
erous to be in any but the regular routine of an established 
business, wherein he would not be likely to meet sharpers 
who would attack him through the very nobility of his dis- 
position. My mining ventures may not be any more success- 
ful than his, but I have the advantage of some capital to fall 
back on, and my profession. Then, if I do succeed, with 
Miss Gordon’s consent, I shall arrange Harry’s portion, so 
that half will be yours, so Owen will come back to the fulfill- 
ment of his hopes as well as to his wife.” 

Then Dr. Knowlton touched the right spring, and in the 
joy that brightened her eyes, was lost Eliza’s amazement at 
her brother’s sudden resolve. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


“dr. knowlton goes mining." 

W HEN Kathrine heard the door close and looked up to 
find Dr. Knowlton gone, she wakened as from a trance. 
“ Gone, without a word from me ! What will he think of 
me ! ” It was the first time since she reached womanhood, 
that this question had arisen in her mind. It was the first 
time she considered the possible opinion of a man, for whom 
heretofore, she had felt, at best, only a species of mining 
comradeship. 

In the lonely journey of her life she had kept her eyes on 
the guiding-star of duty, and midst the thorns that tore her 
feet she had not flinched or moaned, though there had been 
no hand held out to her in tenderness, no one whose praise 
she had desired. Tied to one despised ; and feeling that 
unconquerable contempt not only a sin against her duty, but 
a crime against the mother she had so patiently loved ; her 
days were filled with never-ending self-reproach until she 
met Eliza. 

This sweet nature gave an outlet to her intensity, that by 
isolation was really making her miserable. In the friendship 
that sprang up between them Kathrine found the first pleas- 
ure she had known since her mother’s eyes had last looked 
love upon her. Thus her admiration for women was in- 
creased by the knowledge of this sweet one. But for men 
generally she felt an infinite contempt. Strong herself, she 
most honored truth and strength, and thus far had found so 
little among men, that she could not honor them. She was 


“ DR. KN OWL TON GOES MINING. 


231 


indifferent to their criticism ; and acting out her own life, 
striving to do what was best, had never stopped at the con- 
sideration — “ What will be thought of this ? ” 

Yet now she stood trembling, blushing, with hot tears 
rushing to her eyes, at the thought of the possible verdict 
of a stranger ! 

Each awkward movement, each stupid word, was cast 
back to her by her cruel heart. And this last, this most un- 
grateful silence ! Oh, if she could forget it ! With clasped 
hands pressed close to her face she strove to shut out the 
phantoms that jeered and mocked her, calling into her unwil- 
ling ears : 

“ Thus you did, most stupid Kathrine, whose pride towers 
mountains high. Thus awkward and thankless you have 
seemed. He, who might have been your friend, has left 
you in disgust ! ” She shut her eyes to hide the pictures 
from herself, as she said : “ I will never see him again.” 

Clinching her hands, she stood, with frowning brow, then, 
hiding her face, burst into a passion of tears. 

Fo.olish Kathrine ! Why did you not look into the eyes 
that were gazing at you and seeing nothing but grace and 
wisdom ? Why could you not look into the heart of that 
learned doctor now seated watchfully by old Si ? His quiet 
face is no index to his thoughts. But his heart ! If you 
could see it ! And your blushes would not be those of shame, 
nor your tears those of sorrow. Calmly he sits, noting each 
change in the sick man, for whom he is doing all that years 
of study and experience have taught him. His eyes are 
fixed on his patient, and his hand is softly smoothing the hot 
head. But that hand, quietly as it moves, is tingling with 
the touch of yours, and those grave eyes are filled with your 
loveliness. While you are vowing you will never see him 
again, a will stronger than yours is arranging an endless 


232 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


series of meetings ; and a heart, as passionate as your own, 
is crying out : 

“ In all the world, past, present and future, she is the 
woman I want, the only one that could ever fill my life. She 
shall be mine.” 

Your face, soft, tender, languid, as he had last looked 
down upon it, comes back to him, sending his blood thrill- 
ing through his brain. Making his soul say as if to yours : 

“ Love, I will not frighten you. I will not force you to 
these arms. When you come, it shall be at your own will. 
But come you must, yet I will not tear you too suddenly 
from this dead life, wherein like a sleeping princess you 
have lain all these years. What lost years to me, wasting 
away, while you were waiting here ! ” 

Ah ! Kathrine, if you had but possessed the power of 
reading souls, you would not be dimming your eyes with 
tears of shame — shame that your father should be what he 
is — shame that his daughter should seem what she did. 
The morning sunlight peeping through the window would 
have kissed your laughing eyes to wakefulness, and not have 
looked on the pale face of a woman whose lashes, wet with 
tears, were pressed down by her first sleep. 

It was a pale and exhausted Kathrine that opened the door 
in answer to an early summons. There stood Dr. Knowlton, 
fresh, strong and vigorous, his eyes full of hope and kind- 
liness, as Kathrine, with head proudly erect and dark eyes 
wide open, gazed into his own. Again the shyness of the 
previous evening came over her, until with a determined 
“ I will,” she held up the lids that were fain to droop before 
his glance. 

Her paling and flushing face and the great rings around 
her eyes betrayed her inner conflict. 

She had begun to say, “ I fear, Dr. Knowlton, you have 
believed me both rude and — ” when the doctor ruthlessly 


“ DR. KNOWLTON GOES MINING." 233 

interrupted the speech she had prepared during the night’s 
wakeful hours with : 

“ Pray do not say a word about it.” He spoke in such 
a cool, matter-of-fact way, that Kathrine's face flushed scar- 
let, grew hot ; and tears were forced to her eyes. They did 
not fall, but Dr. Knowlton saw them and could no longer 
play the role he had planned. When he saw her looking 
so pale and worn he had with difficulty restrained himself 
from clasping her to his heart. And now came those tears. 
He could not resist them ! 

“ Believe me,” his voice was full of infinite tenderness, 
“ I could not misunderstand you.” 

And then both were silent, with beating hearts and bated 
breath. They were almost afraid to look at each other lest 
this immense power drawing them together should make 
one do what would shock the other. 

Barbarism has its advantages. For had they been sav- 
ages, they would have rushed into each other’s arms and on 
the instant blotted loneliness out of two lives. But they 
were a civilized, educated man and woman, and convention- 
alities kept them hesitating at the entrance of a paradise 
for which both were longing. Perhaps, if Dr. Knowlton 
could have been as sure of Kathrine as of himself, he might 
then and there have taken her hand and said, “ You are 
mine.” For in man there always lingers a relic of savagery, 
at least, in strong men ! 

But he dreaded to startle her. He wanted to win her. 
She was not indifferent to him ; he could not look upon 
that face, with its varying expressions, and believe that she 
was. But he would not be content with an interest which 
was the outcome of a lonely life, the sympathy born of a 
stronger will, that forces response from one within its mag- 
netism. No ! He must have her utterly, entirely, must know 
that for him alone she lived ; that were she princess, and 


234 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


he beggar, she would leave the crowded court and come to 
him crying, “ Thou art the man.” 

So they stood for an instant, while the loud beating of 
their hearts drowned all other sounds. 

Finally Kathrine, with a tameness that made her feel like 
striking herself, said : “ It is a lovely morning.” 

“ Lovely,” echoed Dr. Knowlton, and then burst into 
such a hearty peal of laughter that Kathrine laughed too. 
Their embarrassment passed off in that laugh, and he was 
determined there should be no more between them. 

So he began to talk, and ever and anon a laugh would 
break through, as though the joyousness within must come 
forth to greet the sunlight. Kathrine laughed also in a 
merry way that seemed to break down some of her stately 
dignity and make her more charming, as it made her more 
girlish. 

To Dr. Knowlton it was irresistibly funny that he should 
have been so embarrassed before a woman, who, he had 
already decided, should be his wife. And Kathrine, hearing 
his tender tone, seeing his tender look, had felt laughter 
like a spring bubbling up from her heart. She was so 
happy, so unreasonably happy ! 

They talked of Si. He was very ill, the doctor said, and 
he would need her to help nurse him. 

“ I would like you to sit up with him to-night. I shall be 
in the room most of the time, but not having slept for three 
nights may be drowsy. Will you come ? ” 

Artful Dr. Knowlton ! For shame, thus to plan to keep 
her near you, teaching her to look to you for guidance ! 
Kathrine’s face flushed with pleasure at his request. 

“ Surely you know what you ask as a favor is just what 
I desire to do.” 

“Is it?” And he smiled. “Well, then, rest to-day as 
much as possible. I had some information from the driver 


il Dr. knowlton goes mining. 


235 


this morning. The attack of last night was planned by 
that fellow Alcorn. Your father refused to take part in it 
until after Alcorn had made him drunk. Then he was no 
longer responsible. He is very much enfeebled ; we must 
have patience with him, and as much as possible keep him 
away from Alcorn’s influence.” The doctor was speaking 
very seriously and in the most artful way using the “ we.” 
“ I shall be her companion in every thing,” he had said to 
himself. “ Even in duty to that old man.” 

The dark eyes looked her gratitude, and her heart cried : 
“ Thank God, he does not think my father wholly bad ; ” 
for she had noticed the “ we.” And it told her that in this 
trial she was not alone. 

“ And now, ” said Dr. Knowlton, “ for a matter of busi- 
ness. Will you rent me your stables ? I’ve bought the 
horses that brought me here. Your stable is convenient 
and quite large enough for a pair of horses. We’ll drive 
all over the county. You’ll be guide and show us what can 
be found in this desert,” he said pleasantly, but his smile 
grew more tender, than bright, at her earnest : 

“ Don't call it a desert. True, its only tree is the pine, with 
here and there a cedar, and its bushes are all sage brush, 
but it is peopled with heroic deeds, brave, self-denying lives, 
and I love its mighty mountains, barren as they are.” 
These strange reasons for making Dr. Knowlton change 
his opinion ! Yet from that moment was it changed, or at 
least so modified that for this wild country he would have 
taken up the defense, perhaps more logically than Kath- 
rine had done. But for all his logic, the reasons that con- 
vinced him were a woman’s face and soft, dark eyes resting 
wistfully on the mountains that she loved. They looked 
at the stable. It was large and very clean. “ Kept so by 
her,” the doctor thought, glancing at Kathrine and think- 
ing of all the menial duties she had performed. “ A prin- 


236 


A PLUCKY OAr£. 


cess in disguise,” he said to himself, and she looked the 
princess, as she stood in the doorway of the stables, with the 
sunshine glinting all around her and showing to perfec- 
tion her perfect figure. 

After a little the stable was rented, though Kathrine with 
a smile asked him to take it and not pay rent. But the 
doctor was so accustomed to having his own way, and had 
such a pleasant manner of making others go that way, that 
he soon overcame her objections to his “ business pro- 
posal.” 

“ I’ve other business proposals to make to you,” he went 
on, with a laugh in the brown eyes. “ But now let us see if 
your father is awake. I must not forget my old profession, 
though I think of taking up another.” 

Together they entered the cabin. Mr. Gordon was 
dressed, sitting by the door, and looking old and feeble, and 
had no memory of the previous night. When he was intro- 
duced to Dr. Knowlton, he began at once to speak of his 
own ailments. 

“ It is not often we have a physician in town. I would 
be much obliged if you would prescribe for me. The bill 
Miss Gordon will attend to.” He spoke with the manner 
of a millionaire. Kathrine, standing near, flushed with 
shame. 

“ Dr. Knowkon is Mrs. Merilton’s brother,” she inter- 
posed, hoping that her father would attempt no further 
petty deception where their circumstances were known. 

But her father kept on talking, while with the utmost 
gravity Dr. Knowlton went through the formula ; felt his 
pulse, took his temperature, looked at his tongue, and then 
said : 

“ Mr. Gordon, I have always considered that a physician’s 
first duty is truth. Do you want to know in what condi- 
tion I find you ? ” 


“ DR. KN OWL TON GOES MINING. 


23 7 


Mr. Gordon coughed, paled, flushed, and then coughed 
again, as if he had not quite made up his mind, as the doc- 
tor smiled, partly to reassure Kathrine, who had turned 
very white. Seeing the smile Mr. Gordon said : 

“Well, doctor, if it is your custom, I guess I can stand 
the truth.” At these words Dr. Knowlton spoke gravely. 

“ Mr. Gordon, I find you in a low state of vitality. You 
are completely run down, either by hard work or dissipation. 
If it is hard work, I advise you to take several months’ rest, 
and I refuse to attend you, unless you take liquor only in 
such quantities as I shall prescribe.” 

“ Am I dangerously ill ? ” Mr. Gordon was trembling 
with nervousness, for life was sweet to him. 

“ Not ill, but in a dangerous condition. It would be a 
very serious matter with you in your present state to have 
even a slight illness,” the doctor replied. 

“ Will abstaining from liquor make me strong ? ” 

“ I can not say that. But its indulgence will surely kill 
you, and that shortly. You are in no condition to stand 
excesses.” Mr. Gordon frowned as he said crossly, “ It is 
this damned country that is killing me. If I die it will be 
your fault, Kathrine. Think of it, sir ! My own child ! 
and she refuses to sell a pitiful bit of rock that would give 
me the means to leave this hole and go among men of 
my own kind.” He was shaking with indignation at his 
daughter’s selfishness; terrified too at his own possible fate. 

“ I will sell the ledge, since your health requires a 
change.” How quietly she spoke, as she renounced the 
-purpose of her life ! The measure of her duty was surely 
filled now. To it she had sacrificed her only hope. 

Looking at her, Dr. Knowlton could hardly repress his 
admiration. He had read so much of Kathrine and her 
ledge in his sister’s letters, and had had the picture so 
brightened by Eliza’s words and the vision of Kathrine’s self, 


238 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


that in this offering to give it up he knew she was parting 
from more than life. 

“ Noble creature ! ” And then he glanced at her father. 
“ What a contrast ! ” At his daughter’s words the old man 
had risen immediately, and now with hat in hand stood at 
the door. “ I will go at once to Captain Alcorn and tell 
him you’ve decided to let him have 1 The Monster.’ Good- 
morning, doctor.” Mr. Gordon was in a hurry to be off. 
Dr. Knowlton had never felt greater contempt for any one 
than for this selfish old man who was willing to accept the 
total sacrifice of his daughter’s life and without one word 
of gratitude ! Yet Dr. Knowlton’s manner, though firm, 
was perfectly courteous. 

“ Pardon me, Mr. Gordon, but Captain Alcorn is very ill. 
I am his attendant physician, and I forbid all visitors.” 

Gordon threw himself into a chair, as near a rage as he 
could be. It was intensely vexing. Kathrine might change 
her mind. He looked at her. No ; she would not break her 
word. Whiter than the whitest marble, with compressed 
lips and tightly clasped hands, she leaned against the wall. 
She had let go her hold on the only plank that had kept 
her floating in the dreary ocean of life. Sinking into its 
depths of despair, she put forth no hand to clutch at help. 
All her struggles had been useless, her labor was vain. At 
last it had come to this. Except the pitiful one-fourth 
deeded to Harry, her ledge, her beloved ledge, would pass 
to him she despised. Looking at the coming years she saw 
only a desert. 

“ Miss Gordon.” It was Dr. Knowlton’s voice. She 
turned toward him. 

“ What is it ? ” she said. 

“ I told you I had a little more business to transact with 
you. I wish to buy an interest in * The Monster.’ I offer you 
$2,000 for one-fourth, and here is $i,ooo as first payment.” 


“ DR. KNO WL TON GOES MINING. 


239 


The doctor laid two crisp $500 bills on the table. 

“ How ! What is that ? ” Mr. Gordon, springing to his 
feet, caught up the money, fearful that some change might 
put it out of his reach. Kathrine too had started. Her 
clasped hands were extended toward the doctor, her face 
was eloquent with a gratitude too great for words. 

Rising, Dr. Knowlton took her hands in his. He was 
greatly moved by her agitation, and at the revelation of 
each new phase of her character the passion within his 
soul grew into mightier proportions. But she was trem- 
bling ; he must help her to self-control. 

“ It is settled, then,” he said lightly. “ We are to be 
partners.” 

The warm clasp of his hands, the light shining from his 
eyes, were a contradiction to half-jesting words. 

“ Yes, sir, it is settled,” said Mr. Gordon, in the most 
contented manner. “ I am pleased to have my daugh- 
ter associated with such an excellent business manager. 
Any one to look at you, sir, would know you were a man of 
the world, experienced in those affairs which require a cool 
head and a firm hand.” 

With his hand in his pocket holding fast to the money, 
lest it should be spirited away, there is no saying how far 
his eloquence might have carried him, had not his daughter, 
somewhat recovered, said to Doctor Knowlton : 

" Captain Alcorn only offered fifteen hundred for all the 
claim. I can not accept two thousand for one-fourth.” 

“ Kathrine,” almost screamed her father, growing ashy 
pale, and then turning to Doctor Knowlton, he cried : 

“ Doctor, surely you will not take advantage of my poor 
child’s ignorance of business ? A good girl, sir, but no 
head for business. Besides, sir, I am witness. You made 
the offer. It was accepted. I am witness. I could hold 
you to it, sir, in a court of law. It is settled, sir. I hold the 


240 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


money that binds the contract. I shall look after my poor 
child’s business.” 

He was really growing heroic in his defense of his daugh- 
ter’s rights. He clutched fast the money in his pocket : 
he would die before he yielded it to either of them. Oh, 
Kathrine ! Exasperating girl ! He would like to put her 
in a lunatic asylum. “ Mr. Gordon,” answered the doctor, 
“ I intend to hold to my bargain. I do not think your 
daughter’s interests will suffer in my hands. And I hope as 
soon as we get to work Miss Gordon will be able to give 
you all the comforts you desire.” He rose to go, but he 
could not leave Kathrine to be tortured by that old man, 
so with a courteous bow to Mr. Gordon, he asked if he 
could spare his daughter for an hour or so. “ Our friend 
Si is very ill, and as I shall be out of the house, I would 
like to leave Miss Gordon in charge of him.” 

“ I shall be most pleased, sir, that my daughter should 
make herself useful.” 

“ You should not have given all that money,” she said, as 
outside the door he drew her hand through his arm. He 
gave her no chance to use her will against his, but she must 
put in this protest even. She was still trembling and had 
a nervous fear of breaking into tears. 

“ Miss Gordon, I am a man of business, willing to make 
a sharp bargain, but not an unjust one. If only a part is 
true that I have heard of this ledge I have given you a 
niggardly sum. But I take into consideration the fact that 
I must furnish all the capital. Harry’s quarter we must 
arrange to share with his mother. This, with my quarter, 
will give me equal voice with you in all business matters. 
I have already sent a letter by the man who drove me here, 
directing my agents to forward fifty thousand dollars. We 
will begin on that and we may be millionaires before it is 
all expended.” He had made her sit on a rock, had taken 


“ DR. KNOWLTON GOES MINING . 


241 


off her hat, and let the cool morning breeze refresh her. 
He had spoken so quietly that a calm had fallen upon her 
troubled spirit ; and when, looking down on her with a smile, 
he asked, “ Do you think you’ll ever battle against my 
judgment in our mining operations ? ” she had said, simply 
as a child : 

“ I will do just as you say.” Where was the haughty 
Kathrine now ? To him this sweet submission was most 
fascinating. Again he felt that impulse to catch her to his 
breast, and his former embarrassment came back to him, 
bringing its laugh with it. 

As she looked up surprised, he said : 

“ It is really a most lovely morning,” and as his laughter 
rang out clear and hearty, she could but smile in sympathy. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


“ CONQUERING THE CAMP.” 

W HEN she smiled, and seemed calm, Doctor Knowlton 
handed her her hat. Raising his he bowed, saying : 
“ Now, Miss Gordon, I leave you in charge of my patient. 
Eliza and Em will obey your commands ; you have only to 
obey mine,” and he smiled. “ All to which at present I 
require obedience, you will find written on a piece of paper 
in Si’s room. I may not be long away, and yet I may, 
for I am going down to capture the camp, and won’t return 
until it is accomplished.” He looked quite capable of 
conquering any camp, as he stood there, strongly made, 
with the sunlight falling on his bared head, covered with 
close cut brown hair. It was a magnificent head ; and his 
face full of intellectuality, with its high, broad brow. His 
mustache and beard were brown, the beard cut close like 
the hair and running somewhat to a point. He was not 
unlike pictures she had seen of stern Huguenots, who had 
never quailed at torture nor at death. But there was noth- 
ing stern in the face that smiled upon Kathrine as she 
glanced up at him. The brown eyes were full of merri- 
ment, and over the whole man was a quiet air of power. 
He moved, looked and spoke like one used to command, 
to whom difficulties were but steps on which to mount higher. 
Ashe said, “ Won’t you wish me good luck?” she answered, 
“ Good luck and a safe return.” 

Then with long, swinging strides he was soon down the 
trail and on the road. He turned once, just before the mill 


“ CONQUERING THE CAMP . 


243 


shut him out of her vision. She waited a moment longer, 
then rose and went into the cottage, feeling herself in a 
new, strange world. Some one was guiding her ship ; some 
one had lifted from her the heaviest responsibilities of her 
life ; no longer tortured by doubt of her judgment, there 
was a wiser, better will to lead her own. 

There was no smile on Doctor Knowlton’s face as he 
entered the store and stood for a moment sternly frowning 
at a group of men ; a rough-looking set, with their flannel 
shirts open at the neck, trowsers tucked into boots, and old 
slouched hats pulled over a very bad lot of faces. 

They returned his scornful look with interest, but they 
did not feel as defiant as they looked, for they had been 
discussing Doctor Knowlton all the morning, wondering 
who he was, what power he had, and what he intended to 
do to them. 

Before he left the driver had been besieged with ques- 
tions. All he knew was that the gentleman’s name was 
Knowlton, that he was a doctor, and had a “ pile ” of 
money. He didn’t even know he was Mrs. Merilton’s 
brother until she called him so. But he paid him hand- 
somely for the trip, gave him five hundred down for the 
carriage and horses, and in fact had acted the gentleman 
from first to last. 

“But, boys, I guess he’s a hard one when he’s mad, for 
we was riding along, as easy as possible, when bang, there 
came a sound like a cannon, and then lots of reports like 
pistols. ‘ Hurry your horses,’ he says to me. I never 
heard a voice as made me mind so quick, sence I was 
whipped by the old schoolmaster. When he sees you all 
afirin’ the house, he jest says one word, 1 Devils ! ’ springs 
from the carriage, and was half way up the hill afore I could 
catch up. ‘ Take that man,’ and he pointed to the old 
codger. Then with a stride he catched hold of the tallest 


244 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


fellow in the lot, and, as easy as I throw this stone, dashed 
him to the ground. I never seen any thing like it. And 
all day, as I seen those hands of his a-stroking his mus- 
tache, I said to myself, them’s too white ; them hand* ain’t 
good for much. But I’d not like to have them hands 
against me.” 

“ Wal, ef it comes ter a fight, I’m good fer any two like 
him,” had answered a surly-looking, thick-set fellow, called 
Bill, who brandished a pair of huge fists. 

“ You think you could,” said the driver, contemptuously. 
“ I’ll bet he’d give you one of those double-shuffle licks, 
and land you quiet somewhere. And then, my boys, he has 
lots of money, and who knows but he’ll buy a whole police 
force, and bring down a mounted regiment upon you ? ” 

As he spoke, the driver was mounting Alcorn’s horse, 
which he had hired from Lieblin, to go to the nearest ranch, 
agreeing to send it back by an Indian. He looked at the 
men gathered in a little knot around Bill. They were a 
bad set. 

“ I’ll head ’em off,” he said to himself, and galloping a 
short distance, he stopped. 

“ See here,” he called out, holding up a letter ; “ I’m the 
bearer of this from Doctor Knowlton, and I’m paid well for 
being quick about it. Perhaps he’ll hire all the ranchers 
down the valley to come here and wipe you fellows out. 
You’d better make terms with him, if you can.” 

The men rushed after him, but, putting spurs to the horse, 
he was soon far ahead. His laughter came back as he 
galloped away. Now, what should they do ? Without a 
leader they knew not how to proceed. Alcorn was really 
ill, for Bill had visited him early in the morning. The doc- 
tor had justdeft, and an old Indian woman was watching 
beside the sleeping captain. “ Let’s give Cap up ter this 
here doctor and save ourselves,” was the opinion of the 


“ CONQUERING THE CAMP." 245 

majority. But Bill, bad as he was, yet had some instincts 
of a man, and said stoutly : “ I’ll not do that ’till Cap shows 
he’s ready ter play us false. I says let’s wait an’ see what 
this feller’s goin’ ter do.” 

As this conclusion was reached, Dx. Knowlton appeared 
at the store door. 

Judging from his stern face, they could expect no quarter, 
and while they stared at him, they were filled with inward fear. 

After a few moments’ silence, Knowlton in a voice that 
made the request a command, said : 

“ I wish to see a man called Lieblin.” 

“ He’s goin’ ter make Lieblin peach,” Bill whispered to 
his confederates, as Lieblin, all bows and smiles, emerged 
from his desk in the corner. Since the appearance of the 
doctor, he had been sitting there, apparently absorbed in a 
newspaper, for Lieblin was perfectly free from any fear for 
himself. Not being of the fighting kind, he had had noth- 
ing to do with the affair of last night. So he had planned 
for himself that he would be the friend of this very rich man 
the driver had talked about. To this effect and to make 
the contrast more marked between him and “ the roughs,” 
he had decked himself in the luxury of a white shirt and 
his best clothes, and now, with his face beaming and hair 
very much curled, came forward graciously. 

“ Veil, sir ; and vat can I do for de shentleman ? ” 

“ I wish to speak with you alone,” said Dr. Knowlton. 

Unconscious of any possibility of harm to himself he 
turned to the group of men. 

“ Do you hear, shentlemen ? I must really ashk you to 
vait on de porch for von minit and a half. You see, sir, in 
these mountains ve don’t build palaces,” and Lieblin 
laughed at his little joke. 

The men had held a whispered consultation, and had set- 
tled upon their course, so far as Lieblin went. 


246 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Taking of his hat and bowing to Doctor Knowlton, Bill, 
who seemed to be spokesman, said in his politest man- 
ner, “ We goes outside, sir, ef yer asks it, but we has suthin 
to say privet, ter that man. An’ we says it first ef you 
don’t object.” 

“ I don’t object,” answered the doctor. 

“ Come along then, Lieblin,” said Bill, familiarly, even in 
his fear of what was coming to him, determined to take down 
the airs of “ that fool.” 

Then the men went out and in the porch surrounded 
Lieblin with excited faces and gestures. 

The doctor, watching them through the window, 
laughed to himself at the picture they made, in sharp 
contrast to the young Jew’s smooth and rather childish face. 

“ Poor fools,” said the doctor. “ They think I came to 
destroy them. No, no, I am too old, have seen too much of 
the illnesses of life, moral and physical, to strike at any 
thing but the roots.” 

But the men on the porch did not seem “ poor fools ” to 
Lieblin. His face had lost its smiles and was deadly pale, 
for he was terrified at the threats they were whispering in 
his ears. They were not idle threats. He knew these men 
were desperate and would stop at nothing. 

“ Ef yer peaches on us, ef yer don’t swar we knows noth- 
in’ ’bout last night, we’ll kill yer afore mornin’. An’ our 
feller-citizens ’ll bring in a verdict o’ suicide. So yer needn’t 
think we’d be afeard ter kill yer. An’ afore we’ll kill yer we’ll 
tar an’ feather yer, an’ then we’ll set yer afire, just to see 
how a Jew’ll burn.” 

“ Shentlemen,” said Lieblin, “I’ll svear to any thing to 
please you. An’ I assure you, I’ll only shpeak of you in de 
kindesh manner.” Then as this generalizing did not seem to 
satisfy them, he said hurriedly, “An’ I svear to you, I’ll 
svear shust as you svear.” 


“ CONQUERING THE CAMP. 


247 


“ Well, yer jest keep ter yer word,” said Bill, and then 
they let him go to the doctor. 

Pale and nervous, but smiling graciously, Lieblin said, as 
he re-entered the store : 

“ Dey are very pleashant fellers, very pleashant fellers,” 
and then closing the door carefully, stood waiting to hear 
“ vat vas de shentleman’s pleasure ? ” 

“ Come to this corner by the desk ; I don’t want the men 
outside to hear what I have to say,” said the doctor, leading 
the way. 

Very nervous, trying to get his story all ready, and yet 
without breaking faith with the men, so to lead Dr. Knowl- 
ton’s suspicions, that he would rid the camp of those who 
had threatened him, Lieblin found himself in too deep waters. 
He had all the willingness to be a villain, but lacked ability 
to be more than a tool. They walked to the furtherest 
corner from the door, and placing a chair at the desk for Dr. 
Knowlton, Lieblin drew up one for himself, still keeping the 
sickly smile on his face. 

“ Mr. Lieblin, I am very much hurried this morning, 
so can only spare twenty minutes which I will give you 
to decide upon a proposition I have to make to you. Will 
you place here on this desk all letters received at this office 
for Mrs. Merilton that have not been delivered, and all 
letters written by her that have been detained ? If you agree 
to do so and to leave the town just as soon thereafter as I 
shall declare a reasonable time, I will noCseek for evidence 
to convict you. And I will buy your goods, etc., not at 
your valuation, but at the actual costand freight, as shown 
by your books and bills.” 

Dr. Knowlton paused. Throughout the speech, Lieblin 
had sought to interrupt him, but he would not stop. At his 
first words the young man’s face changed to a sickly green. 
But when the doctor offered to buy his goods, at actual cost, 


248 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


he had laughed a little derisive laugh and turned red with 
anger. 

“Yell, you are a generous shentleman. And you tink 
dat you can frighten me ? I tell you, no, sir," and his voice 
grew louder, as his rage increased, “ I sells not my shtore, 
less I gets a good profit. I have lift to long in dese mount- 
ains shust to valk out at de bidding of a shentleman who 
vants my business. Ha ! dat is too much ! " 

“ Very well." Dr. Knowlton spoke as quietly as if 
Lieblin had agreed to every thing he had demanded. 
In the same tone he went on, “And now, will you give 
me the letters you have held back, that belong to Mrs. 
Merilton ? " 

“ Sir, you are no shentleman to shpeak in dat vay. Me 
keep that pore lady’s letters ? It ish an insult and I demand 
an investigation. I’ll have you arrested, sir, for black- 
mail." Lieblin was on his feet now, sawing the air with 
his arms, and looking the doctor full in the face, a picture of 
innocence. 

“Very well," and the doctor’s voice was even quieter 
than before. “ Now, young man, in consideration of your 
youth, I will be kind to you and tell you what I intend doing. 
You know the condition of this camp as well as I do, the 
characters of that group of vagabonds, the honor of Cap- 
tain Alcorn. Well, I shall post in a conspicuous place this 
notice, and send a copy of it to Alcorn. Read it." And he 
handed Lieblin a large piece of paper, on which was writ- 
ten in a clear, bold hand — 

“ Notice ! 

“ One thousand dollars reward, and no questions asked, 
for proof of letters being delayed and detained by David 
Lieblin, postmaster at Cetewayo. The above reward will 
be paid in coin as soon as the desired information is re- 


“ CONQUERING THE CAMP. 


249 


ceived. The information must be in the form of affidavits, 
sworn to before the justice of the peace. 

“ William Knowlton, M. D.” 

As Lieblin finished reading, his hand fell like a limp rag 
at his side. Beads of sweat stood out on his face and, 
throwing himself into a chair, he sobbed like a child. Dr. 
Knowlton took out his watch and laid it on the desk. 

“ The twenty minutes to consider my proposition in begin 
from this moment/’ 

“ Haf pity on me, haf pity on me ! ” sobbed the young 
man. He knew the fight was over. He had to accept the 
offered terms, or be betrayed by the very man whose tool 
he had been, for he knew Alcorn would not hesitate to give 
the evidence which would make him a convict. His only 
chance lay in the mercy of the man before him, whose cold, 
unmoved face gave him little cause for hope. 

“ I am a young man ; I haf been de victim of dis Captain 
Alcorn, who vill betray me. I haf an ole fader who gafe 
me all his money to put in dis shtore. He vill die broken- 
hearted ; oh, haf pity on me. I svear if you vill only let 
me shtay here until I sells my goods, and you vill say nod- 
ding about dis little matter, dat I vill gif all de letters, so 
'elp me Gott, and neffer, no, neffer, do de like again.” 

** Ten minutes of the twenty are gone,” the doctor 
answered coldly. 

“ Mein Gott, mein Gott, vat vill I do ? Oh, sir, vill you 
not gif me a shmall profit ? Shust to pay for all my 
trouble ? ” 

Dr. Knowlton seemed not to hear him. His head, leaning 
on his hand, was turned away ; his eyes were fixed on the 
watch. 

“ Mein Gott, haf pity ! ” Lieblin wrung his hands and 
his eyes rolled around, as if seeking some outlet from his 
miserable position. Suddenly there came a look of some- 


250 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


thing like desperation in his face. Gleaming on the counter, 
just at hand, lay a long, thin knife. It was very sharp and 
of excellent steel. It had been sent him as a sample, and 
this very morning he had been showing it to the men. 

If only he could strike a blow on that part of the 
stranger’s neck, just behind the ear, of which he had a 
good view. 

“ It ish a merciful Providence,” said Lieblin to himself, 
as noiselessly slipping his hand down the counter, he 
grasped the knife. Yes, he would stick it into his throat 
and kill him. “ He vould show me no mercy, I vill show 
him none.” A moment more, and like the Jewish heroes of 
old, he would have slain his powerful foe. Though, cow- 
ard-like, he was about to strike his enemy in the back, he 
still felt himself a hero, as, hiding the knife behind him, he 
changed his position to take sure aim. Already he saw the 
fatal wound and the red blood dripping over the white 
neck. Perfectly motionless, the doctor seemed lost in 
thought. So strong, so brave, and yet at the mercy of a 
weakling and a knave ! But what strength profits against 
assassination ? There was an instant’s gleaming of steel as 
the knife descended for the fatal blow. But it never 
reached the doctor’s throat, sure as was the aim. For the 
doctor’s strong hand grasped the murderer’s, crushing it 
until, powerless, it let fall the glittering weapon. “ Cow- 
ard ! ” said the doctor, “ see what betrayed you ! ” He 
pointed to a little mirror that, in his vanity, the young man 
had hung where he could admire his own image. “ Fool ! 
Do you suppose I would trust my life with you ? Now, I 
can have you arrested for attempted murder, as well as for 
tampering with the United States mail. 

“Quick! You’ve not a moment to lose. The watch 
tells me your probation is over. I will be merciful, and 
give you another chance. Do you accept my proposition ? ” 


" CONQUERING THE CAMP. 


2 5 J 


“ Yes,” answered Lieblin sullenly. 

“ Give me the letters.” 

Without a word Lieblin opened a compartment in his 
safe and laid on the desk a goodly package. 

“ Brute ! ” the doctor thought, as all Eliza’s suffering, 
caused by this miserable wretch, came before him. But he 
spoke only of their present business. 

“ Get your bills of sale, your inventory of goods and your 
books. I will take only such debts as are good, and pay 
you just what your goods cost laid down here. Those 
debts that have nothing to warrant their payment I will 
put down to your account and send you the money when 
received.” Lieblin fairly writhed with rage, but dared do 
nothing but obey this quiet, positive man. 

“ You are very hard on de poor, you haf no mercy, sir,” 
he whimpered, hoping to awaken pity. But Dr. Knowlton 
felt no pity for such as he ; saying sternly : “ Keep to your 
business, I’ve no inclination for discussion, and your time 
is limited. You leave town to-night.” Together they 
| looked over the books, the stock, and bills of freight and 
sale. 

Keeping to his bargain, showing no mercy, exacting 
measure for measure, the doctor was more than equal to the 
j merchant. At noon he allowed Lieblin an hour for dinner, 
| being himself obliged to see his patients. The only grace 
he gave was the promise that, if Lieblin acted according to 
directions, his disgrace should not be told in the camp, and 
■ he could elsewhere establish himself in business. 

Lieblin was not to mention his departure, was to leave 
after dark, was to write his resignation of the post office, 
and if ever, directly or indirectly, he became connected with 
a post office, or any office of trust, Dr. Knowlton pledged 
himself to lodge him in state’s prison. “ And I will keep a 
lookout so that I shall know your occupation,” he said. 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Thoroughly suddued, Lieblin agreed to every thing, and 
the doctor left him to dinner and his own reflections, while 
he hurried to Eliza with her precious packet of letters. 
She looked so delicate that, as Doctor Knowlton remem- 
bered how much Lieblin’s villainy was responsible for her 
ill-health, he felt he had been too merciful. Yet in the 
course of law, months must have elapsed before justice 
would have been meted out to Lieblin. And judging from 
the treatment of poor Goulding’s murderer, justice to crim- 
inals in this sparsely settled country implied liberty, license 
for further crimes. 

Leaving Eliza with her letters, he looked in on Si. He 
was sleeping quietly, and Kathrine sat beside him, installed 
as nurse. 

“ He has just fallen into a doze,” she whispered, as they 
stood outside the door. “ The medicine and nourishment 
have been given according to your directions, and his fever 
has abated.” “Yes,” the doctor replied, looking on Kath- 
rine with eyes that made roses come. Giving further di- 
rections, the doctor left the cottage, but even in this hurried 
moment these two felt the charm of thus being associated 
in labor. The smile called forth by this charm was still on 
Dr. Knowlton’s face as he entered the cabin of Mr. Gor- 
don. 

Deep in a guide book, a map of travel spread out before 
him, he flushed red as he strove to hide it with his arm. 
The doctor found upon examination that there was little 
hope of building up his shattered constitution. The won- 
der was that he clung to life. Stopping for a few moments 
to speak with the old man, he proved himself well educa- 
ted, and with considerable information. He had since 
morning made a careful toilet, and despite the bloat of dis- 
sipation, looked gentlemanly. 

He seemed so utterly unfitted to a rough, western life 


“ CONQUERING THE CAMP.” 


253 


that the doctor began wondering how he had drifted to a 
mining camp. Drifting it must have been, not direct inten- 
tion, for in the face before him, naturally refined and hand- 
some, irresolution was stamped. This curiosity grew so 
strong that Dr. Knowlton asked : 

“ How did you happen to choose mining as a business, 
Mr. Gordon ? ” 

“ Well, you see, doctor,” Gordon answered, as if pleased 
to talk of himself ; “ it wasn’t so much my doings as my 
wife’s. She was a very headstrong woman, and my daugh- 
ter is just like her. It was twelve years ago, and Kathrine 
was a tall girl of sixteen, when, in San Francisco, where we 
had lived since our marriage, I got mixed up somehow in a 
muddle in the bank where I was cashier. My wife had a 
little property, which she sacrificed ‘ to clear my name,’ she 
said. She was a great fool for doing it, for it would have 
been difficult to have proven any thing against me. But 
she would have her way and she loved me, she loved me.” 
He stopped, for in a brief moment of tenderness, selfish as 
he was, he remembered his wife. 

Dr. Knowlton, who had heard of the devotion of Kath- 
rine’s mother to this husband, and had felt his anger rising, 
almost forgave the old man, now, after his eyes were full of 
tears. 

Idle tears ! For if she could have come back to life, this 
selfish creature would doubtless have been as selfish to her 
as to her child, and would have sacrificed her as readily. 

I Only every atom of feeling is a token of a superior spirit, 
and, even in the selfish, wins respect. 

After a pause, Mr. Gordon took Up the thread of his 
story. “ Well, after she’d used up all her money, and I was 
out of employment, all we had was about three thousand 
dollars belonging to Kathrine. She wanted her mother to 
take it, but she wouldn’t take it herself, nor would she let 


254 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


me. We had to use some of it, however, to get out of the 
city. So we drifted along from one small town to another, 
and Kathrine and her mother taught music and French. 
We came to Nevada, and at Virginia City were very com- 
fortably fixed. The two had a good many scholars, and I 
liked the place. But one night I got mixed up in a fuss 
over a little game of cards. My wife thought I would be 
murdered, so we left and went to Nappias. There, my wife, 
who was never very strong, began to fail. The people 
were not of the sort to want their children to be accom- 
plished, so the money had to be used, the piano sold, and 
Kathrine did a little sewing. One day a man came in town 
from this place. It had only five cabins then. He brought 
some very rich rock and wanted a partner or would sell out 
for five hundred. He came to my wife and told a pitiful 
tale about starving wife and children. Kathrine’s mother 
was the most foolishly soft-hearted creature, and when Kath-i 
rine went in and found her mother crying, she said she’d* 
buy it, and gave him the full five hundred, though I am 
sure a fellow so low down would have sold it for half the 
amount. I was very angry when I heard it, for she had 
only one thousand left. Then my wife took sick and died, I 
and Kathrine spent five hundred on her sickness, and tol 
send her way back to lie beside her own mother, just be-? 
cause one day, while she was half conscious, she wished for 
this. Then we came to this place, and here I’ve been foil 
nearly ten years, waiting for something to turn up. We’ve ■ 
just managed to live and that was all. But I’ve not com- 
plained much. That’s not my way.” And he finished with 
a sigh of satisfaction. 

Dr. Knowlton looked at him in silent disgust. In this i 
outline of their history he saw the heroic sacrifice made by 
a mother and her child — the privations endured, the labor 
performed, the shame of two proud hearts and the love of 


“ CONQUERING THE CAMP . 


255 


one. And for what ? A thing so selfish that, with one in 
her grave, and the other’s girlhood forever gone, immolated 
for him, he felt nothing but satisfaction in his own conduct ; 
indignant, he rose to go without a word of adieu. 

“ Going, doctor ? ” and Mr. Gordon looked up surprised. 

Doctor Knowlton felt he must get away from that atmos- 
phere or speak his thoughts, so he was already at the door. 

He would not speak his thoughts, for censure to this man 
might wound the woman, who, as each phase of her life 
was opened to him, grew dearer. So he made his excuses, 
saying : 

“ Yes, I’ve a business engagement at 1 o’clock and must 
first see that fellow Alcorn ; he is quite badly hurt.” 

“Well,” and Mr. Gordon rose, extending his hand, “per- 
mit me to express once more my satisfaction in my daugh- 
ter’s business connection with you, and to thank you for 
your visits.” 

A man of the world and yet frank and truthful, Doctor 
Knowlton disliked to take the hand of one he despised. 
But he thought of the daughter and for her sake did not 
offend the father. The men shook hands, one hurrying to 
his patient, the other equally busy about some private mat- 
ters. Doctor Knowlton found Alcorn weak and feverish. 
Near him, on a table, was some gruel prepared by Em, 
which he had brought down in the morning. 

“ I find you very little improved,” said the doctor. “Take 
more nourishment and be careful about the medicine.” He 
then examined and dressed the wound. It was deep and 
would leave a scar for life. “ Oh ! that all villains might 
thus be marked,” thought the doctor, as, repeating his 
instructions, he left the cabin with as little apparent memory 
for the sick man’s misdeeds, as if he had seen him for the 
first time. 

“ Baffled, defeated ! ” Like the shriek of a lost soul, this 


256 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


cry was shouted in Alcorn’s ears, enraged at finding himself 
of so little consequence. Lying on his bed, weak and mis- 
erable, he was still a prey to his own evil passions. 

For the doctor he felt hatred so deadly that he desired 
to get well just to kill him, and if curses could kill, the 
doctor would have fallen dead while making this visit of 
charity. But he never looked better or stronger than as 
he opened the door, the sunlight fell around him, showing 
each excellent outline to the man on the bed. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


“ DESERTED, BUT NOT ALONE.” 

D R. KNOWLTON found Lieblin waiting for him in the 
store. By working hard, they had taken stock and 
every thing was settled as night was falling. The doctor 
made out his check for the goods, reserving the debts and 
the debtors’ names for further consideration and information, 
as he had stated he would do; so the business between them 
was settled, and Lieblin was now as anxious to go as Doc- 
tor Knowlton was to see him depart. He would go to 
Eureka, wait there a week for advices from the doctor, and 
then decide where he would settle, he said, seeming to feel 
himself well out of a great difficulty. And when the saloon 
lights were shining and the men, congregated around the 
tables, were discussing all possible causes for the long con- 
versation between the stranger and Lieblin ; the young Jew, 
with Doctor Knowlton’s check in his bosom, and his ward- 
robe and valuables in the bottom of his wagon, was hitch- 
ing up the team for his journey. The doctor standing 
beside him, intending to see him well out of the camp, 
believing in the theory of finishing well what is well begun, 
Lieblin probably took his presence as a compliment. 

“Veil, doctor,” said the young man when he was ready 
to start, “ you ish bin very hard upon a poor young man 
like me, but I forgives you. Vill you shake hands ? ” 

At this perfect effrontery the doctor could not help 
laughing, as he replied : 

“ I will shake hands, if you have fully decided that for 


258 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


the future you will keep from crime. Remember, though it 
may take time, the punishment is sure to follow.” 

“ I do remember, sir. And for dat punishment I vill 
take care,” he answered, as if he were uttering some noble 
sentiment. Shaking hands, the doctor said, seriously : 

“ Now, Lieblin, I hope your life will be bettered by this 
lesson in your youth.” 

“ It vill, sir, I’m sure it vill.” And Lieblin drove off, the 
doctor watching him go up the road until he passed over 
the top of the first hill. 

“ Poor fool ! Not absolutely wicked, but what evil these 
poor creatures can do ! Well, he has gone out of our lives 
now, and, I trust, will not harm others.” 

As Dr. Knowlton spoke these thoughts aloud a tall figure 
passed him hastily and took the trail over the mountains 
Harry had pointed out to him that morning as a miners’ 
trail. It was a short cut to “ The Giant,” and crossing the 
road in the gulch between two great hills, saved a good mile 
to workingmen. 

Watching the rapidly moving figure, Dr. Knowlton won- 
dered who he was. It was so muffled up, though the night 
was not chilly, that he could not tell whether the man was 
stout or thin, but it was evident he was very tall. “ Per- 
haps he was some one trying to intercept Lieblin and get a 
lift to Nappias,” he said, as he stood for a few moments 
thinking it over, and then, tired out, walked homeward. 

Stopping on the way to see Alcorn, he found him better 
and learned that Em had brought down some fresh gruel. 
As he turned his face toward Eliza’s house, he glanced over 
at the Gordons’ cabin. 

It was perfectly dark. “ Something is wrong,” he thought. 
And then with a presentiment almost like certainty there 
came to his thoughts the tall figure of the man hurrying past 
him. 


“ DESERTED . BUT NOT ALONE. 


2 59 


He crossed the road and opened the cabin door ; all was 
still. He struck a light ; the room was empty. He looked 
into the adjoining room and found that empty also. Every 
thing was strewn in disorder, spoke of hurried prepara- 
tion. “ He has deserted her and taken the thousand dollars* 
The old scoundrel ! ” exclaimed the doctor. On the table 
lay an open sheet of paper with writing on it. He folded 
it up and put it in his pocket, saying softly, “ Poor dear girl 
— another trouble for you ! I wish I could bear it for you,” 
and he sighed as he walked up the trail. 

He found all the family except Kathrine in the little sit- 
ting-room. 

“ We have been so anxious about you, brother,” Eliza 
said, as she welcomed him. “So anxious that Kathrine 
declared she would wait no longer than eight o’clock, when 
she would start in search of you. See, it lacks just five 
minutes of the hour.” 

Dr. Knowlton had smiled at this interest ; but though he 
answered cheerfully, “ Business, dear, detained me,” he 
sighed unconsciously, and then rousing himself from thought 
turned to Em. “ Can I have a cup of coffee ? ” he asked 
kindly. 

“ ’Deed that you ken,” was Em’s hearty answer, smiling 
with delight as she brought it to him on a little tray. “ I 
know’d what you’d like,” she said. “ I jest know’dyer’d be 
wishing for coffee, so I kep’ it hot fer yer.” 

He drank it eagerly, then went to Si’s room. He had 
decided to bring Kathrine to the sitting-room, for he felt 
that he ought to break the blow to her when Eliza was near. 

He found Si asleep and Kathrine looking so pale that his 
heart smote him. 

But the pang changed to joy, for her dark eyes brightened 
when she saw him, and a red flush swept over her face as 
she whispered : 


26 o 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ I did not hear you come.” 

Was it for him her face wore its pallor ? He wanted then 
to tell her what joy this belief gave him, but he only took 
her hand, saying : 

“ Come, I want you to hear how I have fought, and to tell 
me if I’m victor. Leave your patient a moment.” 

He still held her hand as they entered the sitting-room, 
where the family was assembled, and she was no longer 
pale, but the loveliest rosy red, as he placed a chair for her 
next Eliza’s. Harry leaned on her knee, and Em looked 
over the back of her chair, all waiting for him, all depend- 
ent upon him. It was what a strong man desires, this de- 
pendence, and Dr. Knowlton had anticipated a great deal 
of pleasure in recounting his day’s doings to those who had 
become his dearest charges. 

“ But pleasures are like poppies spread, 

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed.” 

The bloom of his pleasure was shed for him, for while he 
talked he was thinking of the news in store for Kathrine. 
His listeners did not notice his anxiety, they only saw he 
looked pale and tired, as he told his story well, making them 
laugh at its funny side, and lightly alluding to Lieblin’s at- 
tempt at murder. Then he paused a moment, then he looked 
earnestly at Kathrine, and then he went on. “ As I stood 
watching his team out of sight there passed me, taking the 
short cut to the road below, a very tall man. He walked 
too quickly for me to see who he was, but — ” He did not 
finish, for, pale as death, Kathrine rose from her chair. 
“ My father! ” she said. “ He has left me! ” and she started 
for the door as if to assure herself. 

With her arms around her, Eliza was at her side, Harry 
lay weeping on the floor, and Em, with her apron over her 
head, sat rocking to and fro. 

Deserted, yet she was among friends. 


“ DESERTED , BUT NOT ALONE: 


261 


Friendless Kathrine could never be while that strongman 
looked so tenderly upon her and these kind friends clung to 
her. In all that moment’s pain she felt this. Only now she 
must go away for a little to regain self-control : she must 
see for herself. 

“ Let me go, dear,” she said to Eliza. “ I will come back.” 
But she did not go alone ; helping her down the rocky 
path were tender hands, steadying her, lest she fall, was 
a strong arm. It seemed so natural for him to be with her 
that she had not opposed his going ; indeed, she felt in his 
sympathetic silence the comfort she needed. At the door 
he stopped her, making the blow less heavy with his voice 
full of pity and tenderness. “ It was your father, Kathrine. 
I went through the house on my way up. Seeing no lights 
I suspected something wrong. I found this on the table,” 
and he put the sheet of paper in her hand. She held it 
with numb fingers, feeling only that her father had deserted 
her. He had gone, really gone, and left her ! He had 
been most unmindful of all a father’s duties, yet he was all 
on whom she had any actual claim. And her duty — her 
promise to her mother ! How she had failed in every thing! 
She leaned against the wall sobbing bitterly. 

Doctor Knowlton longed to hold her to his heart and let 
her weep those tears on his breast. But he would not 
startle her — would not by a feather’s weight add to her bur- 
dens. So he took her hands, holding them in the warm, soft 
clasp of friendship. 

“ Kathrine, my dear girl,” he said, as if reading her 
thoughts and seeking to destroy the bitterness in them, 
“ whatever comes, you have done a noble daughter’s fullest 
duty. Your mother, were she alive, could not have made 
more complete sacrifice of herself than you have.” 

“ Ah, but you did not see my heart. I did my duty, per- 
haps, after a cold fashion. But I never loved him, and he 


262 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


knew it. I seem to see my dead mother gazing at me in 
reproach.” And with parted lips and wide open eyes she 
looked as if she saw a being invisible to him, intensifying in 
her morbid self-reproach of whatever neglect she believed 
herself guilty. 

“ My dear girl, you are breaking your heart without 
reason. Your father had not a sensitive disposition. Prob- 
ably had you lavished affection on him he would have felt 
bored. Come in, let us light a candle and you can read 
what he has written.” He led her in, made her take the 
only comfortable chair, and placed the candle at her side. 
How strange, how sweet it was in all her sadness, to find 
herself the object of those little cares ! He turned to go, 
to wait outside for her return, but his heart leaped for joy 
as she put out her hand, touching his arm timidly : 

“ Don’t leave me,” she said. She tried to read, but the 
blinding tears prevented, and she handed him the paper. 
“ Read it.” 

With a wildly throbbing heart he took the paper and in 
quiet tones read her father’s farewell, for the sweetest mo- 
ment of his life was reached as already she began to lean 
upon him. 

It was but the beginning of the blessed end, when she 
should love him, would give herself to him. These were 
his thoughts as he read her father’s letter, seeking by his 
quiet tone to soften, if possible, its utter heartlessness : 

Cetewayo, Sept. 20, 6 p. m. 

“ My Dear Kathrine: I have just finished a most excel- 
lent dinner, and during it, inspired perhaps by Em’s cook- 
ing — make her my compliments, will you ? — there came to 
me a good idea. I shall leave Nevada, I will return to 
California, and shall take this opportunity of recalling my- 
self to the memory of my old friends. I believe the change 
will do me good. I think it would have been better for me 
had I never left San Francisco. But it was one of your 


“ DESERTED , BUT NOT ALONE." 263 

mother’s notions. I always yield in preference to argu- 
ment. I shall engage Lieblin to take me as far as Nappias. 
There I will take the stage to the railroad. I hope you 
won’t be foolish and make a fuss about my going. I am 
doing what I feel is best for my health and happiness. As 
you have always said my happiness was your first desire, I 
hope you will act up to it now. My address will be Palace 
Hotel, San Francisco, for I shall always try to make a good 
impression for your sake. Will write you on my arrival in 
the great city of the western coast. I quite long to be once 
again in the civilized world. This life is not suited to one 
of my delicate organization. I leave without seeing you 
and start away after dark, if Lieblin will consent. I have 
decided upon this course, as I don’t feel equal to any dis- 
cussions, and you certainly have a will of your own. I trust 
you will make a sale of your ledge. Sell it all, since the 
doctor is fool enough to want to buy. Remember this is 
the advice of your affectionate father. 

“ Godfrey Gordon. 

“ P. S. — Don’t worry about the one thousand. I have it. 
I hope when Doctor Knowlton pays the second installment 
you will forward me a remittance as soon as possible. I 
shall be under considerable expense, and in Cetewayo you 
need very little money. I hope you will not consider your 
duty lies in following me, for I have been caged so long I 
really need a little freedom.” 

Doctor Knowlton read every word except the reference 
to himself. That mortification he could not inflict. She 
sat quite still, leaning on her hand in a dazed sort of way. 
Events had fallen so quickly one on the other that during 
the last few days she seemed to have lived years. She 
raised her eyes to find his fixed on her with an expression 
passing that of any eyes she had ever seen. She felt adrift 
in a waste of water and had but him to cling to, and as if 
drowning, she put out her hands. He caught them, press- 
ing his lips upon them. She felt those lips and the silken 


264 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


mustache and seemed lifted out of all her care into a beau- 
tiful existence. The brutal selfishness of her father was 
forgotten, her years of loneliness, like footprints on the 
beach, were washed away by the great wave of a strange, 
new joy. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


" THE COMMITTEE CALLS ON DR. KNOWLTON.” 

T HE morning after Lieblin’s departure the people were 
astonished to find the store locked, and nailed on the 
door a large piece of paper whereon was written : 

“ Notice. 

“ David Lieblin has sold out and permanently retired 
from business in Cetewayo. This store will be closed for 
two days, after which for the accommodation of customers, 
it will be open from 2 to 4 p. m. If these hours are not 
convenient to country customers they can be served by ap- 
plying at cabin back of store. No goods sold except for 
cash or on the very best security. 

“ William Knowlton, M. D." 

For two days a group of men was collected around this 
notice, reading it over and over again, while they kept their 
fears alive with whispered speculations as to Dr. Knowlton’s 
probable prosecution of the party who had attacked Mrs. 
Merilton’s house, and with exaggerated stories of his riches 
and power. On the evening of the second day a commit- 
tee was called. After resolving that this uncertainty was 
not to be endured, they decided to call on Captain Alcorn 
for advice and direction. 

Going in force, they found the captain sitting up and 
somewhat disfigured by the plaster which covered nearly 
half his face. He was in a very bad humor. He had heard 
of the departure of Lieblin and of Mr. Gordon, his two 


266 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


obedient and efficient tools, and their absence overthrew 
his most cherished plans. 

Since the limit of the time appointed by the court for the 
settling of the wood suit having expired, he was only wait- 
ing to be able to go out and put up the notice and hold the 
sale. This departure was a great blow, for he had arranged 
with Lieblin to bid in the property. The bidding would be 
fictitious, for in fact, Lieblin was only to bid for him, as he, 
being sheriff and having no property, could not act for him- 
self, so had arranged it with the Jew; as once possessed of the 
mill and water right, he would hold the key of the camp, 
for the only water available for milling purposes was owned 
by Owen and his partners, and the camp, if it was ever to 
be a success, depended largely upon it. 

Alcorn had lain awake many nights and exulted over the 
ample revenge on Owen this proceeding would give him. 
He had intended to keep within the technicalities of the 
law by having a deed made out, wherein, for certain con- 
siderations, the mill, water right, etc., would pass to him 
and he would be master of the position. 

It was to this end that he had instigated the stoppage of 
all mail for Mrs. Merilton. He had feared that Owen might 
send directions and money with which to buy in the prop- 
erty. The California partners had treated the matter with 
indifference, but he knew that Mrs. Merilton felt deeply 
interested. 

And now, by Lieblin’s going, the whole arrangement was 
broken up ! Then with Mr. Gordon’s departure was lost 
the one chance to wound his daughter’s heart. 

On hearing the news Alcorn had walked the floor in a rage 
until, too weak to stand, he fell into a chair, and at this 
moment, most inopportune for them, “ the committee ” ar- 
rived. 

After they had made their greetings and inquiries, and 


“ THE COMMITTEE CALLS OH DR. KNOWLTON." 267 

had been most ungraciously received, Bill, the spokesman, 
rose to explain, and wound up by saying : 

“ An’ now, Cap, as you has got us inter that there diffi- 
culty ’bout firin’ Mrs. Merilton’s house, it’s only fair as you 
should get us out.” 

Bill had flattered himself that he had made a powerful 
argument, and sat down well satisfied. He was rather 
astonished and disgusted when Alcorn broke out with the 
forcible interjection : 

“ You damned fools ! I’ve got you in no difficulty. A 
pretty pack of idiots you are ! Whatever difficulty you’re 
in is your own affair. If any of you ever repeat such a lie 
on me I’ll make you sorry you ever lived.” 

From this the gallant captain went on to worse, and 
ended by calling Bill a name that brought that worthy to 
his feet with an oath. 

“ Ef yer wasn’t all patched up I’d knock the lights out o’ 
you fer that word ! I ain’t afeared o’ you. But I ain’t 
quite so low as you, or willin’ to hit a brute as is already 
down,” he said, angrily. 

With which compliment “the committee” walked out, 
each man vowing vengeance on the captain. 

They held a consultation, and now, without a dissenting 
voice, agreed to call on Dr. Knowlton, and if promised full 
pardon, to tell him the name of the ringleader. 

It had been a quiet day at Mrs. Merilton’s cottage. Si’s 
illness kept them anxious, and while Kathrine was chief 
nurse, every one found some little service to render to the 
good old man. Even baby Hannah toddled in whenever 
the door was left ajar, whispering, “ My pretty Si, baby tolly.” 

Early in the morning, armed with a note of introduction 
from Kathrine, Doctor Knowlton had driven to one of the 
ranches and had engaged a young man who had been once 
in the business to attend the store for him. 


268 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


He had reached home just before dark and had been 
welcomed lovingly by his sister and the children. Si was 
asleep, but he could not wait for him to waken ; he wanted 
to look into a pair of dark eyes and see them brighten at 
his coming. Kathrine sitting by the window had seen him 
drive up. She had missed him so much that, as she saw 
how happy he looked, she felt her heart contract as her 
face flushed hot with shame. It was only pity he felt for 
her. What man, with any thing noble about him, would 
not pity a woman left on the compassion of her friends ? 
She would not take his pity, she thought, with curling lip, 
and then with the utmost inconsistency she began to feel 
angry and unhappy, because he had been contented, and 
she, in his absence, lonely. So, when, with a face bright as 
Harry’s own, he looked in on her, it was a very quiet greet- 
ing he received from the stately Miss Gordon. The dark 
eyes were filled only with sadness. There was no pleasure 
in them, no brightness at his coming, and, disappointed, 
the smile faded from his face. He looked tired and careworn. 
Asking some questions about Si, he closed the door and 
left the nurse and her patient alone. 

After a little, Em called them to dinner. By this time 
Dr. Knowlton was again quite himself. Was he to be dis- 
heartened by a cold look ? Ah, no ! He had determined she 
should love him and was not one to give up. So he wel- 
comed her to her place, and with each opportunity afforded 
by the courtesies of the table made her feel how dear she 
was to him. Made her heart rejoice with his manly tender- 
ness. And what scope for tenderness is found wherever 
tenderness exists ! Hide it as one may try, like flower of 
sweetest perfume, its breathing fills the air. At table, sur- 
rounded by her friends, with Harry calling her his “ Kath,” 
and with Doctor Knowlton’s brown eyes opposite her, full 
of something more than liking, she forgot to be unhappy ; 


“ THE COMMITTEE CALLS ON DR. KNOWLTON." 269 

her evil spirits were exorcised. It was during this hour of 
reunion, when, with lowered voices, mindful of Si, they were 
discussing with some amusement Dr. Knowlton’s plan to 
subjugate the camp, that a knock came upon the door. Em 
opened it, and rushed back with frightened face. 

“ Oh, Mars William, for de Lord’s sake, don’t go out dar. 
Dere’s a lot o’ men askin’ for you. You’se big an’ strong, 
I knows, but you can’t fight a rigiment. Don’t go, Mars 
William.” 

“ That’s all right, Em. There’s nothing to fear,” said 
Dr. Knowlton, as he walked toward the door. But his sis- 
ter, throwing her arms around him, added her voice to Em’s, 
“ Don’t go, brother,” she pleaded. Smiling, he gently put 
her aside. “ Believe me, dear, there is no danger.” There 
was another who had turned very pale at Em’s cry. In his 
way, as he turned from Eliza, stood Kathrine. She caught 
his arm, and, in a voice too low to reach other ears, said, 
“ In pity let me go with you.” If she had disappointed him 
by her welcome she more than repaid him now by her agi- 
tation. 

Pressing the trembling hand holding his arm, he said in 
a voice low as her own : “ I do not believe these men mean 
evil. Stand by the door, and at the first loud word, come. 
I can refuse you nothing.” 

Then Em took the children into the kitchen, and in 
breathless silence the two women listened. Eliza’s hands 
were folded in prayer, and Kathrine, grasping a knife, stood 
ready to rush to the doctor’s aid. On opening the front door, 
Dr. Knowlton invited the men into the house. There were 
five — the same rough set he had seen in the store. But 
they were on their best behavior now, each one removing 
his hat as he entered. The doctor bowed, placed chairs 
for them, and said, while he repressed a smile, “ Gentlemen, 
be seated.” A little creaking of boots and chairs was heard, 


270 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


and then there was silence. After some punching and nudg- 
ing a heavily built man rose, bowed, took his seat, and clear- 
ing his voice, said : “ Sir, we’re a committee, as has formed 
to wait on yer ter make a proposition, sir, as 'ud be pleasin’ 
ter us ter have yer agree to.” 

“ Gentlemen,” — the doctor was so full of amusement that 
it sounded in his voice, and the two women listening at the 
door, relieved of their fears, were clasped in each other’s 
arms, laughing quietly — “ Gentlemen, to agree to any prop- 
osition of yours surely ought to afford me great pleasure. 
But I can make no terms unless you tell me your wishes.” 

Highly delighted at their reception, and more and more 
pleased as the doctor continued speaking, each man took a 
more comfortable position, and Bill began his oration : 

“ Ef, sir, a party o’ hard workin’, honest men gets de- 
luded by liquor, an’ in the power o’ a villain ; ef these men 
was ter give yer the villain’s name as instigated a vile plot 
agin the welfare and peace of a fine lady, would yer swar 
to the men that they was never to have no legal measures 
taken agin ’em, an’ ’cept as witnesses, they ’ud never be 
taken ter court ? An’ ef a lieyer was ter tell ’em ef they was 
ter be cross-questioned, it might be as how they’d be in a 
little trouble, would yer be satisfied with the filin’ o’ their 
affidavits, and jest lettin’ ’em disappear ? ” 

Bill had emphasized this speech with numerous squints, 
winks and wavings of his disreputable old hat. At its close, 
overpowered by his own eloquence and greeted with a little 
buzz of admiration from the other ‘ gentlemen of the com- 
mittee,” he sat down and drawing out a red handkerchief, 
began to mop his face and head in the most elegant manner 
known in Cetewayo, feeling the modest satisfaction that he 
had stated the case better than “ any other feller could,” 
and waited in his most dignified manner while Dr. Knowl- 
ton paused a moment as if considering, then said : “ Gen- 


“ THE COMMITTEE CALLS ON DR . KNO WL TON." 271 

tlemen, as soon as I hold your affidavits as to the name of 
the person who instigated and directed the attack made on 
this house, wherein were lodged defenseless women and 
children, I will agree not to include you in any legal pro- 
cess I may institute.” 

“ All right, sir. To-morrow mornin’ yer shall have the 
affidavits. Yer can’t to-night, for the justice is so blind 
drunk he can’t hold a pen.” 

“ Tell me now the villain’s name,” said the doctor. 

“ Cap Alcorn’s his name ; an’ as mean a dog as ever 
lived. I’d ha’ stood by him, ’cause I don’t like to peach on 
a pard. But to-night he called me a name as gives a black 
eye to my mother. I ain’t seen the ole woman for nigh on 
thirty year, but she was a good ole critter, and I swars ven- 
geance on any man as speaks agin her.” 

Reddening with rage, as he thought of Alcorn’s abuse, 
Bill looked a dangerous enemy. 

After a few moments “ the committee ” rose, made its 
bow and filed out ; and on the following morning the mem- 
bers brought their duly attested affidavits. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


il a S I E G E.” 


OR the next three weeks the town was in a curious state 



1 of siege. Mr. Green, the young man in charge of the 
store, acted perfectly in accordance with Dr. Knowlton’s 
direction, and, except one or two men for whose honesty 
Kathrine vouched, no credit was given. Money or a bill of 
sale for mining claims, house or horse was demanded. Not 
even a bottle of whisky was sold on trust. The men swore 
and raved. Mr. Green kept his temper and obeyed orders. 
Poor as they were, there was hardly a man who had not 
somewhere among the mountains a horse straying. No 
expense to their owners, the animals managed to find amid 
these seemingly barren rocks enough nourishment, not only 
to support life, but to fatten on. In common with the In- 
dians’ horses, who never had other food, they looked in fine 
condition. And before the two weeks had passed Dr. Knowl- 
ton owned every horse, and most of the cabins and mining 
claims that Mr. Green considered of any value were also 
added to his possession. 

“ I shall be proprietor of all Nevada if this keeps on,” he 
said one day, laughing heartily at the bills of sale which, 
made out by his honor, the justice, looked like nothing so 
much as fly tracks in ink. 

When Alcorn recovered sufficiently to attend to business, 
notices of sale were posted, and the old justice, “ sobered 
up ” for the occasion, knocked down the mill and water right 
to the highest bidder. 


“ a siege: 


273 


There were only two — a ranchman whom Alcorn had 
pressed into the service and Dr. Knowlton. The ranchman 
was timid. New to villainy he bid hesitatingly, and when 
the doctor increased his bid to three thousand, backed out, 
so the property became Knowlton’s. Giving greenbacks in 
the amount, to the justice, he walked off, while the bystand- 
ers looked in wonder at the possessor of such riches. He 
was a new Croesus come among them, but of his wealth 
they were not to partake. For, civil to all, he favored none ; 
and while they hated him, they feared this stranger. Yet 
seeing how easily he commanded money, for which they 
would have sold their souls, a sort of reverence grew up for 
him and mingled with their hate, and gradually, as he pur- 
sued unmoved the even tenor of his way, they liked him 
better, who had never favored them, than Owen, who had 
been kindness itself. 

It was a glorious morning, early in October, the door was 
open, letting in the fresh air and sunshine on a home pict- 
ure, in Mrs. Merilton’s sitting-room. 

Eliza, thinner than when she had first come to the camp, 
had regained her health and looked fresh as a rose. She 
had spoken truly when she told her brother that news from 
Owen would cure her. Her letters now came regularly, and 
William had given her such hopes to build on, such great 
hopes for Owen’s benefit, that she was almost willing to 
have him stay away a few months longer. 

Si sat in an armchair near the “ missus.” He was still 
very sick, but each day was advancing toward recovery. 
At his knee stood baby Hannah, who had grown very fond 
of the old man. Near the door, with dreamy eyes fixed on 
her beloved mountains, was Kathrine, with Harry’s bright 
head nestling close to her face. 

Dr. Knowlton leaned against the door looking at them 
all ; even Em’s smiling visage was peeping in from the din- 


274 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


ing-room. It was a group to make a man feel comfort- 
able. 

And that dream/ face, each day growing lovelier to him ! 
He thought most of it as he spoke to all. 

“ My idea in thus forcing the idlers to pay for each item 
as soon as bought is either to make them work or go off to 
some other field more productive for them. In a small way 
they were robbers, waiting to win in play what some poor 
wretch had to work for. I don’t imagine that in a mining 
camp I can keep out this element, but at any rate we’ll try to 
rid ourselves of these scrubs, for I don’t want them to be 
helped to further villainies by our success. And we are to 
succeed. Aren’t we, Si ? ” 

“ Ay, ay, sir.” 

“We are bringing them down to ‘ hard pan,’ as you min- 
ers say. They must work, go without * grub,’ or leave the 
camp. Most of them have gone ; two of the worst left this 
morning. One or two have asked for work. That heavy 
looking fellow called Bill came to me the other day. He 
said I couldn’t freeze him out, that he intended to stand by 
the fortunes of this camp, and if I’d trust him I wouldn’t be 
sorry. I took quite a fancy to the fellow and told him I 
wasn’t paying Nevada prices just now, but if he chose to 
work for two dollars a day he could start to dig me a cellar 
back of the store. He went to work with a hearty good- 
will, regardless of the sneers of Alcorn and “ Saloon Jimmy.” 
They keep at him all the time about starvation labor and 
convict rates, but he works on as if he did not hear them. 
There’s metal in that man. I rather regret I can’t freeze out 
Alcorn and his partner. But they have too many resources. 
It would take, too long and I want to get to work. I told 
Bill to meet me at the Monster this morning, and to engage 
all the available Indians to work on the road. I’ve given 


“A SIEGE. 


275 

him charge of it with an increase of wages. The trail you 
say is four miles.” 

“ Jest about, sir. But Miss Kath knows better’n me.” 

“ Yes, it is four miles,” she answered, without taking her 
eyes from the mountains or her cheek from Harry’s head. 

“ Then as I promised to meet Bill, I’ll start at once. And, 
Kathrine, won’t you go with me ? We must decide where 
it will be best and easiest to make the road. You will be a 
help to me ; you know the country so well. Will you 
go?” 

She rose, smiling. How pleasant to have him whom all 
respected and leaned upon, look to her for help and ap- 
proval ! How he had changed the world for her ! There 
was ever some one watching over her, some one whose 
strong hand was lifting up the dark curtain of her life’s 
despondency, and leading her into the alluring fields of 
hope’s fruition. Yes, at last, after many days, her ledge 
was to be entered in the race for wealth and power. Would 
it win ? She had not a doubt of it. She had studied it 
too long and worked at it too much not to feel assured that, 
should the rich rock go down no further than the shaft 
where Bob and Si had worked, there was still enough to 
warrant the expenditure of $50,000. The second thousand 
in payment for the quarter interest Dr. Knowlton had pur- 
chased, she positively refused to take, so she sent instead 
to her father her share of Si’s nugget, which amounted to 
more than that sum. 

Dr. Knowlton had bought it. He had gone to Hamilton 
and engaged the best lawyers there to prosecute Bob’s mur- 
derer ; and had remained there during the trial. Yet, de- 
spite the testimony — and with his power and influence, Dr. 
Knowlton brought to light very strong testimony from 
Cetewayo — the sentence on the murderer was only five 
years imprisonment. On his return he told Si what was the 


2j6 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


result, and managed, as no one else could have done, to 
reconcile the sick man to the fact. 

What had not Dr. Knowlton done ? He had found them 
all helpless and in sorrow, and lifting each one’s burdens 
made them feel that the sun was “ still shining.” But he 
interrupted Kathrine’s thoughts of him. 

“ Come, let us go down the hill together, I can saddle 
the horses while you change your dress,” he said to her. 

“ I know Kath’s saddle,” said Harry, running ahead of 
them, “and Frank knows me.” On hearing of the sacri- 
fice of her favorite, Dr. Knowlton had repurchased Frank, 
and, one evening, had him brought back to his beloved 
mistress. He stood now arching his pretty neck, waiting 
proudly for her, as inside her cabin she made a hasty toilet. 
Dr. Knowlton waited too, with something like annoyance 
on his face, for the saddle Harry had brought out, and 
asked his uncle to put on, was a small jockey one, such as 
boy riders use. 

Was Kathrine to mount that ? Did she intend to ride 
as a man ? Were the questions he asked himself, when 
Kathrine in the same plain habit she had worn for years, 
appeared at her cabin door. 

She probably divined his thoughts, for she blushed a rich 
red, giving her head a barely perceptible toss, as, putting 
her foot in the stirrup, she sprang upon her horse, and most 
gracefully, if against all conventionality, started off at a 
good pace. 

He followed, taking the place at her side only while they 
rode through the town. 

Out of sight of “ the citizens,” he reined in his horse, 
riding just in the rear of hers. He was trying to accustom 
himself to the sight of the woman he loved sitting astraddle. 
Arguing against all rules and conventionalities, but arguing 
on facts, when he stated, to the utter ignoring of prejudice. 


“A siege: 


277 


that there was no lack of modesty in the position. Then 
there arose the fiat of the world, and he, who would have 
scorned it for himself, trembled at it, for her, his beloved. 

He had just reached this conclusion, when she threw him 
a glance over her shoulder. It is said, that of all glances, 
this from a woman is most charming, most inviting. It cer- 
tainly was very charming as Kathrine gave it, her cheeks 
still rosy with their hot blushes, her eyes proud and defiant, 
but her lips, those once scornful lips, most soft and plead- 
ing. She was altogether so charming that Dr. Knowlton’s 
annoyance vanished in a happy laugh, but not his wishes, 
nor his convictions, that she must not thus ride. At his 
laugh, Kathrine laughed too, her eyes sparkling, brimful of 
mischief, as she said : 

“ I thought, sir, you were angry, and meant to match 
you.” 

“ Match me ? Ah, Kathrine, you do more than that,” 
was his rejoinder. The softness of his voice, and tender- 
ness in his face, made her heart beat quick, gave her delight. 
Yet she was not content. She had divined his feelings and 
wanted to battle with them. 

“You are not angry then?” she asked, with a quick 
glance that was half of languid beauty, and half of uncon- 
scious pleading. 

“ Not angry, but — ” 

“ Pshaw ! ” she said, with a frown she forced upon her 
face. “ That ‘ but ’ covers a whole catalogue of objections, 
of sermons of unpleasantness ! ” 

She stopped for a moment, looking down, as now, abreast 
on the road, he gazed on her. 

She had the greatest longing to tell him she was not 
really angry, that it was a slight matter to her how she 
rode ; while to please him had become the first desire of 
her life. All these longings possessed her heart, but in 


278 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


spite of its nobility, its generosity, it was an obstinate heart, 
and not much given to submission. 

So she kept her eyes on the ground, keeping, too, the 
frown upon her face, and not uttering one of the many 
thoughts that would have given him such pleasure. 

He, watching her frowning face, saw, too, the trembling of 
those soft, red lips, and knew there was a contest within. 

“ I am not angry, Kathrine.” His wonderful voice was 
now so soft that he seemed just breathing thoughts from 
his soul to hers. “ Not angry, and yet not pleased, for 
while I had heard from Eliza that thus you rode, I had not 
experienced the strange shock which a man must feel when 
he sees the woman dear to him place herself in a position to 
be misunderstood.” 

“ Misunderstood ! ” As she repeated his word she raised 
her head proudly. “ What can be understood because I 
choose to ride in the natural, safer way ? There never has 
been a country where fashion doesn’t rule, that women do 
not ride this way. It is certainly as modest, and is certainly 
more sensible, and for myself I despise fashion ! ” 

She grew redder and more vehement as she spoke, yet 
all the while those soft lips kept on trembling. 

They were very tempting lips, and with all her pride and 
scorn she was a very tempting woman, as, like a handsome 
boy, she rode at his side. But he was too obstinate, or 
rather eminently reasonable, and while he had no intention 
of quarreling with her, he wished her to yield to his judg- 
ment. 

“ It may be only fashion, Kathrine,” he still kept his eyes 
on her, “ but custom is something a woman can not afford 
to brave. She can not afford to seem eccentric or conspicu- 
ous. If slanderers had only one tongue, or even a dozen, 
you should have your whim and ride as you choose. But 
as it is, I have not hands enough to make all silent. I could 


“a siege: 


279 


fight a few, and perhaps kill them, yet others would live, 
and you still be censured. It makes little matter now, 
while the camp is small. But with success it will grow, and 
really, my dear girl, I could not bear that you should be 
under comment." 

In his earnestness he had placed his hand on her reins, 
stopping her horse as his had stopped, for they were 
about to enter upon the narrow trail, where above them 
frowned great mountains, and below them yawned abysses. 

He felt the trembling of the reins resting in her hand, 
Saw the soft lips part as if to speak, caught a glimpse of 
her languid eyes with her heart in them, when the lids for 
a moment raised as if she. must see him at that very in- 
stant. Then Kathrine’s evil spirit roused itself, the soft- 
ness vanished. 

“ Then you would have me become the slave to a stupid 
custom, a tyrannical fashion ? " she asked, angrily. 

“ I would ! " His laugh, light and happy, rushed out, 
for to him this seemed so like child’s play, and she so 
charmingly childish in her unreasonable rage. 

And Kathrine, because she really wished to yield, and 
would not, was determined to be angry. So at his laugh 
that had nearly forced one from her, she frowned more 
heavily, compressing those red lips ere she asked : 

“ And you expect me for these reasons, and these alone, 
to change a habit that my intelligence and judgment tell 
me is right ? ” 

“I do." He took off his hat, showing his handsome 
head, which in mock humility he bowed before her, still 
with the laughter in his eyes and voice. 

“ Then I will not" she said, positively, so angry with her- 
self because of the tumult in her heart that she raised her 
whip and gave Frank a sharp cut. 

Unaccustomed to such treatment, and having a spirit of 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


280 

his own, Frank reared, plunged, gave a spring that let the 
daylight shine under his hoofs, and then, with the stones 
rolling off the trail into the abyss, secured his footing, 
standing trembling on a ledge of rock so narrow that it was 
only his strength and his rider's nerve that kept them 
steady. 

Perhaps it was her nearness to a violent death that 
vanquished the evil spirit in Kathrine’s heart. Perhaps it 
was Dr Knowlton’s act. 

For, as the whip fell and Frank asserted himself, he 
had sprung from his own horse, and stood below the edge 
of the narrow trail with strong arms extended. 

He had stood thus, with white, determined face that 
said to Kathrine more powerfully than words, “ If I can 
not save you, I will die with you.” It was a great profes- 
sion of love, and conquered her. 

“ Forgive me," she murmured, as now pressing his feet 
against shrubs and roots, he seized Frank’s bridle and led 
him a few steps to a place of safety. 

“ O, say you will forgive me,” she said. “ I will do as 
you wish." With these words the impetuous woman grew 
shy, and the firm hand holding the bridle shook so that 
Frank looked around doubtfully, to see who was upon him, 
throwing back his ears as a warning, which was not lost, 
for Dr. Knowlton was thinking then more of her safety 
than of his wishes, or of any conventionality. In that 
moment, when Frank, in air, was beyond the reach of man, 
and so frightened that a touch might have precipitated 
his rider to death, the strong man's soul seemed rent in 
twain. She was so dear to him, was so truly of his life a 
part, and the whole affair seemed so trivial, that to have 
her in safety he would have been willing for her to ride 
before all the world astraddle, should she so choose to do. 

“ Take care, my dear girl," he said, again catching her 


“a siege: 


281 


bridle, “ the trail is still so narrow and your horse fright- 
ened.” 

“ I don’t care,” she half sobbed, very much as Harry 
might have done. “ I don’t care, but, but please forgive 
me ! ” 

“ Certainly,” said the doctor, still watching her horse. 
“ But I could never have forgiven myself, if ill had befallen 
you ! ” 

Then, the trail ascending, she preceded him, as thus, he 
said, he could take better care of her. 

When they came to a ledge with a plateau wide enough 
for both to stand, he reined his horse in at her side. First 
looking at Frank and patting him with “ Now be a sensible 
fellow, behave better,” he turned to Kathrine in admiration 
of the glorious view of mountain and valley. “ Magnifi- 
cent ! ” he exclaimed, and then he forgot the view, the 
world, every thing but her, for she was crying. 

Great tears pouring down her face and sobbing as a child 
might. 

“ Why, love ! ” he said, and in a moment he had taken her 
hand and, glove and all, had kissed it. 

Laughing with such happiness, that she laughed too, after 
she had said : 

“ You will not forgive me,” and he had answered : 

“ Forgive you ! Why, Kathrine, you could not commit a 
crime that I would not freely forgive.” And then with in- 
tensity in voice and face, “ Are you so ignorant of a man’s 
heart ? Do you not know what it is to love ? ” 

She did not answer this, only said meekly : “ About the 

riding, I will do what you wish.” 

“ Thank you,” he said quietly, then remounting his horse 
they followed the trail up to the “ Monster,” where Bill was 
waiting for them. 

There was some discussion about the most desirable 


282 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


direction for the road, Kathrine’s opinion out-weighing 
Bill’s, who gallantly gave way with : 

“ Well, us fellers alius gives prominence to women folks.” 

Ordering the work to begin in the morning, Dr. Knowl- 
ton said, “ Now, Kathrine, we will return, for I imagine you 
are too tired to show me ‘The Monster.’ It will keep! 
These ‘ eternal hills ’ will not melt away quite yet. Come! ” 
They rode quietly homewards. She knew that he loved her. 
And he, with his great will and great love, had begun the 
siege of her heart. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


THE EVIL SPIRIT. 

T HIS ride was followed by many others, for the doctor 
went almost daily to inspect the progress of his work, 
and always invited Kathrine to accompany him. That she 
changed her mode of riding, mounting as women mount the 
saddle that shortly arrived from Salt Lake, awakened some 
comment, which did not reach Mrs. Merilton’s cottage, and 
some opposition, which did. 

“ What makes her ride that way ? I don’t like it,” was 
Harry’s remark to his mother. 

The young man, fond as he was of his uncle, began to 
feel his rights interfered with, and his proprietorship in 
Kath not so absolute as it had been. 

But at the age of six, however, jealousy is not a very 
“ green-eyed monster.” So his mother’s reasoning and the 
affection of his pups soon convinced Harry that, since he 
was enjoying himself, it was only kind to allow “ Uncle 
William ” a little pleasure too. 

Even as she consoled her boy, Eliza smiled at happy 
thoughts. For each day her brother left further behind him 
his old quiet life of absorption and study. Each day he 
grew younger and handsomer ; his laugh, that had always 
been so rare, now breaking out with such good-will, that 
the whole house shared in his gladness ; Em privately 
declaring : “ Well, I jest could split my sides wid joy to see 
Mars William git back his boy again.” 

Si had begun to improve rapidly, even Dr. Knowlton 


284 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


not being more anxious to get to work on the mine than 
old Si, to whom work was a necessity. 

“ We must not hurry. It is better to wait until you are 
strong, Si,” the doctor told him. “ But I, too, am im- 
patient to begin. I have a motive,” he would say, and then 
look at Kathrine with that laugh in his eyes that so entirely 
changed his grave and earnest face. Carpenters arrived 
from Nappias to enlarge the mill, and additional stamps, 
etc., were on the road from Salt Lake. Except Alcorn and 
“ Saloon Jimmy” there was not an idle man in the camp. 
As for the Indians it was a golden harvest for them ; those 
that would work sharing their prosperity with their lazier 
brethren. It grew to be a settled arrangement that Kath- 
rine should accompany the doctor on his rides. In fact, 
what Dr. Knowlton desired was soon a fixed matter. 

As a young girl she had been accustomed to say to her 
mother, “Truth and strength are what I worship.” As she 
grew older and saw how seldom these can be found she 
longed for them all the more earnestly. Doctor Knowlton 
was the one man who seemed to possess these greatest 
virtues ; and thus her mind indorsed the sweet thrills of 
her heart which his look, voice, touch, would awaken. The 
love which, on his first coming, peeped its head from the 
dark earth of her life, grew into such mighty proportions 
that its roots were trained into her existence and its branches 
covered her whole future. But the dearer he grew the more 
she waged war against herself ; for the canker of jealousy 
had, like the serpent of Eden, crept into her paradise — a 
jealousy as senseless as any jealousy could be, yet, like 
most jealousies, unconquerable. He loved her ; she knew 
it. There was not a day or hour in which he did not, in a 
thousand ways, tell it to her. Each time her heart would 
throb with joy, and then eat into itself with this jealousy. 
A hundred times he had begun to speak in words what his 


THE EVIL SPIRIT. 


285 


eyes and voice were always telling, and as often, by some 
willful word or gesture, she had checked what she most 
longed for yet dreaded to hear. William Knowlton had re- 
solved that he would not take even this woman he most 
coveted until she was his own, heart, mind, soul, body. No 
half-way love would satisfy him. A generous giver, in this 
alone he was exacting. Perfectly ignorant of any possible 
jealousy in Kathrine, he attributed her waywardness to her 
ignorance or dissatisfaction with her own feelings; and, 
while he felt a little pain because she still halted in her 
love, he had not changed his purpose. She should be his 
wife. As for jealousy, its possibility had not suggested 
itself to him who could not imagine a cause for it. 

Yet that foolish jealousy that never could be cured ! She 
would cry out against it in the stillness of her own little 
cabin, where now she only staid at night, or when she wished 
to be alone. There, with only her cruel heart that had again 
begun its torture, she would think of the dead wife buried 
long ago. “ Whom your god of truth has forgotten,” would 
whisper that unkind heart. “ Not forgotten,” she would 
say aloud ; and then, locking her fingers tightly together, 
would stop and think. If she, the dead, was not forgotten, 
how could he love her, the living ? And if love could change 
or be forgotten, was it love? Was it strength ? Or was it 
not like a kaleidoscope, changing its colors and combina- 
tions as a hand chanced to move it ? And to these questions 
there could never come satisfactory answer. 

Not long after her father’s departure, she became a mem- 
ber of Eliza’s family ; how, she could hardly tell, except 
that it was Doctor Knowlton’s will. She might have held to 
her lonely life despite Eliza’s entreaties, but Dr. Knowlton 
was too much accustomed to direct and govern, not to be 
successful in a matter which so closely touched him as 
Kathrine’s comfort and protection. His wife — and so she 


286 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


would be as surely as they lived — should never again soil 
her fingers with domestic drudgery ; nor ever again should 
she sleep in a house without an attendant. Thus, despite 
herself, Kathrine was drawn into a happier home life than 
she had ever before known ; and at night Em, who had now 
a Chinaman as assistant, occupied the little room in the 
cabin that had once been her own. She, who had stood 
alone amid the storms and travail of life, was hedged in and 
sheltered by a love, tender as it was masterful. Her proud 
face was daily growing more lovely, and the perfect lips had 
nearly forgotten their scornful curves in merry laughter. 
Dr. Knowlton, the book-worm, was developing wonderful 
gifts of wit and humor. He, whose hours of thought and 
study had made him forget the lighter side of life, now 
found that in woman’s laugh was the soul of music. Yet 
friendship, companionship, love, with their satisfying waters 
held in plenty to her parched lips, could not wash this canker 
spot from her heart — this senseless jealousy of a rival dead 
before she had met him. “ That is the very trouble,” she 
would say to herself, knitting her brows and looking at va- 
cancy, while from the next room Em’s comfortable snoring 
told of peaceful sleep. “ If only he had met us both 
together, this dead woman and me, and had chosen me, I 
would feel that I am to him what no one else could ever be 
— the first, last, only love. But to be second best, to fill a 
vacancy temporarily, and to think him, my master, as fickle 
as ordinary men ! No, no, I can not.” Thus this foolish 
Kathrine was trifling with her own happiness ; her wayward- 
ness, that William Knowlton took as lack of love, was really 
its excess. Yet there was between them such physical sym- 
pathy that he knew he could, by exerting the magnetism he 
possessed, win the consent of this sweeter, dearer self, this 
“ half of his soul,” as he called her. But he loved too well 
to do this, he hungered for her heart and would not be 


THE EVIL SPIRIT . 


287 


content with less. Yet was he ever near saying those words, 
which would either merge her life into his or forever break 
this companionship, growing daily into a necessity. For she 
would look at him sometimes, as if the world were bounded 
in his being ; her lustrous eyes filled with such exceeding, 
such passionate longing, that bending to her, the words 
would leave his heart, where so long they had been lying, 
and then, as some sudden storm obscures the blue of heaven, 
he could see nothing but cold contempt in the face before 
him. A less strong nature would have been driven away by 
such apparent fickleness ; one less faithful, would have 
changed. But neither was possible for Doctor Knowlton. 
When, one day, she said that she had vowed herself to the 
support of her father, and he had asked, “ Could she not 
delegate this duty to some one who, for her sake, would es- 
teem it a dear privilege,” she answered, “ No, I could not 
break, or modify, an oath,” he thought he held the clew to 
what was otherwise inexplicable. So he hurried matters 
along, that “The Monster” might begin to yield its gold 
and enrich this too proud, too conscientious, woman whom 
he loved. 

He attended to every thing, but it was more for Kath- 
rine’s sake than in the desire of gain. He was more eager 
for Si’s recovery than was the old man himself, and urged 
by Si’s entreaties and his own desires, might have let him 
go to work too soon but for his will. This will not only 
dominated and controlled the will of others, but was master 
of himself. The second ride he had taken with Kathrine, 
they had gone over the workings of “ The Monster.” He 
had examined every inch of the ore in the tunnel and had 
descended by a rope to the bottom of the shaft. Knowing 
nothing of practical mining, he was a geologist of no 
mean order and was much pleased with the rock and its 
solidity. He had finished his inspection of the bottom 


288 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


of the shaft and, swinging himself up again, joined Kath- 
rine, where she had, miner fashion, stuck the candle 
in the rock and was leaning against the side of the tunnel, 
lost in thought. It was the first time since New Year’s 
morning that she had been into her mine. Again she was 
living over that fearful night, and the help of the two true- 
hearted men. One was dead and the other broken-hearted ; 
how small, when weighed in the balance with human suf- 
fering, seem the gains and happiness of this world. She 
rouses herself with a sigh, saying : 

“ Here is the pick, just where I left it the last morning I 
worked. And here are the ashes of the fire Bob made to 
warm me. How bright and strong he looked ! And Si’s 
face was really beautiful with love and pride as he gazed on 
him.” And then she went on to tell the doctor how, waken- 
ing in the bright morning, she saw the two bound lovingly 
together ; and found that, through all the winter’s cold, 
they had gone uncovered to keep her warm with their coats. 
Tears like diamonds glistened in her eyes. It is strange for 
a man to look on the tears of the woman he loves, yet feel 
that he must not take her to his heart and comfort her. He 
could not endure it, so turned away. “ I must win her 
utterly,” he said to himself. “ I would not subject her to 
the torture of a marriage without love.” Lying on the 
ground at his feet was a small leather glove, worn in holes 
and bloodstained.. It was Kathrine’s. He thrust it into his 
breast. “ How she has suffered ! Brave girl ! ” Then 
taking her hand he led her back from the grave of memories 
into the sunlight of the present. 

“ What a failure I am in every thing ! ” she said, humbly. 
She looked so sad and gentle, so unlike her usual self, that 
his heart throbbed in pity — not the pity akin to love, but 
that tenderer pity born of love. 

“ Wherein have you failed, Kathrine ? ” he asked. 


THE EVIL SPIRIT. 289 

“ In every thing. I am a cold daughter, an ineffectual 
worker, and a weak, silly woman.” 

“ Why, my girl, you are the bravest, most unselfish 
woman in the world ! ” 

“ Brave ! I’m a fraud and a coward ! There is no silly 
girl who has more nervous tremors than I. In all the years 
I have lived in these mountains, in all the rides and walks 
necessity has forced me to take, there was not one when I 
had not cause to blush at my own foolish fears. That I 
did not show this of myself was because of pride. And as 
a daughter ! What I did I was forced to do from absolute 
necessity. And then, my mother ! Do you know what it is 
to have loved, until memory becomes the dearest, most 
actual part of life ? ” She turned her face toward him. Oh, 
the tear-filled eyes, the quivering mouth ! He could no 
longer endure suspense : it was not within man’s power. 
Catching her in his arms he pressed her to his heart, and 
for the first time in her life a lover’s passionate kiss thrilled 
her through and through. “ Love,” he said, “ marry me 
to-morrow, to-day. I am no Jacob to wait for years. 
Marry me. I love you ! ” 

She did not speak. Her eyes, filled with delicious languor, 
rested on his face. For an instant, held thus close to him, 
there seemed to be nothing beyond. Then suddenly draw- 
ing herself away and frowning until the black brows met in 
a heavy line, she said hurriedly : “ Not now,” and then, 
“ How long were you married ? ” Astonished at such a 
question and in such a moment, astonished at the vision of 
the angry form and sparkling eyes, Dr. Knowlton asked : 
“ What do you mean ? ” When with a bitter laugh Kathrine 
rushed away and springing upon her horse, she was far 
down the trail before he overtook her. 

“ What can she mean ? ” he said to himself. “ What 
does she know of my life ? Eliza was but a child ; and Em, 


290 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


faithful old creature, has guarded it as sacred. What is the 
matter with Kathrine ? ” he asked, with a touch of impatience. 
For, despite her horse’s stumbling over rolling rocks, she 
kept urging him down the steep descent. Mounting, he, too, 
hurried on, and when he was near enough to be heard, 
called to her : 

“ Kathrine, stop this folly. Ride more carefully.” At 
his voice she reined in Frank, and went slowly along until, 
at the gulch, where the road broadened, she stopped. As 
he came up to her, she put out her hand, and for the second 
time said, “ Forgive me.” Her voice thrilled his heart and 
her soft and tender eyes looked into his. The serious words 
of remonstrance were lost in one of his bright smiles, and 
taking her hand, he said : “ I have told you before that I 
can refuse you nothing. But this time I shall exact a con- 
cession. I will forgive, if you will promise not again to be 
foolish.” “ I promise,” she answered. And he wondered 
that her face became so unutterably sad because he objected 
to this reckless riding. 

But she was not thinking now of riding, nor of any thing 
but that him she loved, had loved, had been married, and 
her promise not to be foolish she believed related to that 
period, which for him was lost, buried in the past ! 

Was that faithfulness in this God of her idolatry ? was 
that strength in this man of power ? Or were men naturally, 
as an inheritance of sex, rovers in affection ? 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


“ kathrine’s heroes." 

** \T TAL, sir, ain’t it almost time fer me ter begin ter 
VV work ? ’’ Si asked near the last of October. The 
weather had continued mild, and since Dr. Knowlton’s 
arrival there had hardly been a windy day. “ I believe 
your winds are a myth, and that in these mountains Kath- 
rine loves you have perpetual summer," he would say laugh- 
ingly. But who cared for the winds now, when their hearts 
were full of hope ? It would take a fierce storm to give one 
disquieting thought with this captain directing their ship. 
The $50,000 he had resolved to expend were supplemented 
by $20,000 more. The mill, enlarged, looked a formidable 
structure. The springs, cleaned and protected by stone 
buildings, yielded five times the water they had yielded 
before ; and this, in iron pipes deep enough to defy frost, 
was a goodly stream for the mill. The road was nearly 
completed. Every thing was done in the best, most sub- 
stantial manner. “ We want all the chances on our side in 
this gamble, eh, Si ? And I am as anxious as you are to 
begin the game, but we’ll have to wait a few days longer, 
say a week. Let us begin work on the 10th of November, 
and then — to win or lose." 

“ Lose, sir ! Thar ain’t no losin’ in a ledge like the 
Monster. Thar’s no more likelihood o’ that ledge a-playin’ 
out than fer me ter be president. I don’t say as how it 
mayn’t get poorer and littler, but thar’s enough profit in the 
rock I can get out in a month ter pay all the money back 


29 ^ 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


and carry us over a pretty long streak o’ poor rock. I tell 
you, sir, that’s a solid formation. I’ve seen too much o’ 
mines not ter know that for a true ’un. An’ arter yer makes 
all yer money, I guess yer’ll do like all the rest. Jest take 
it away to some furrin parts and spend it among them as 
had no hand in helpin’ yer ter find it ; never thinkin’ o’ the 
poor old state as has so little ’cept her minerals. An’ folks 
jest a-makin’ her poorer, an’ a-takin’ it from her, as a fox’ll 
suck its blood an’ leave the chicken’s worthless body.” 

“No, Si,” Dr. Knowlton answered, “my partners and I 
intend to put back for Nevada’s benefit some of the money 
she gives us. We mean to build homes for the old and 
infirm miners, where each fellow’ll have a snug little place 
he can call his own, and his monthly money to spend as he 
pleases without feeling himself an object of charity. And 
there’ll be no committee or board of trustees to grow fat on 
starving the inmates of the house. There shall be two 
guardians appointed at regular salaries — one the county 
treasurer, the other a Catholic priest — and perhaps Miss 
Gordon herself will be the third. It is all settled, and we’re 
just waiting for the mine to do its part. Miss Gordon 
planned this years ago.” And he looked at her eloquent 
face, filled with the nobility of her soul. 

“ Is that so ? God bless yer an’ forgive me ; ” and Si 
covered his eyes with his hands, touched to the core of his 
good old heart at this kind plan to help those fellow 
miners whom the world’s charity had thus far forgotten. 

“ There’s nothing now to do but to win, if we can, in our 
gamble, and you are our guide to find the hidden riches of 
the earth. We must have you strong before you begin the 
work. But in a few days more you’ll be all right, I think,” 
said the doctor. 

It was only when talking of the mine that Si seemed at all 
like himself. At other times he would sit for hours gazing 


“ KA THRINE'S HEROES. 


2 93 


out of the door with a face so sad it made Eliza's heart 
ache. He rarely spoke now of Bob — but she knew he was 
always thinking of the lad. One day she heard him say to 
himself : “ A fine young feller like him taken, an’ ter leave 
an’ old hulk like me ! ” Poor Si ! he could not give up his 
dead ! Hearing a slight noise, he turned and saw Eliza’s 
eyes full of tears for him. 

“ Don’t you be a-goin’ on, missus. I ain’t wuth them 
pretty tears. P’raps I’ll feel better when I once gets ter 
work. P’raps this dead coldness here,” and he touched his 
heart, “ ’ull get a little warmer when I take a pick in hand 
an’ has an old-time set-to with the rock. It’s ungrateful in 
me, a-sittin’ here in all your kindness, ter feel so sad and 
heavy like. I'm just the same as one o’ them big rocks out 
thar. The sun shines all about ’em, but they’re cold, terri- 
ble cold inside.” She tried to comfort him. She told him 
he was “ the rock on which we build our hopes. You know 
in mining, how difficult it is to find any one we can trust, 
and how much depends on our success.” 

“ Yes’m, yes’m, I knows, but I’se an old dog, an’ so used 
ter the trick o’ lovin’ Bob, thet somehow I can’t help 
a-missin’ him orful, orful.” Then, brightening up : “ But, 
missus, I’d do mos’ things fer you, Miss Kath, too, I likes 
her. So help me Lord, I’ll try ter hoi’ on ter this yer hulk 
o’ mine till the * Monster ’ hes showed hisself.” 

“ Another day will finish the work ; then, Si, you shall 
begin,” Dr. Knowlton said one morning. “ Come, Kathrine, 
for our last ride as road superintendents.” 

Off they started, with Harry watching rather wistfully, 
until coaxed away by the two pups pining for a romp. He 
forgot Kath and his rights in a frolic on the mountain side, 
while “ his girl,” as he called her, and “Uncle William” 
rode two miles away from camp, where the “ Monster ” 
road was making its junction with the public one. 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


294 

The work, considering the place, and labor obtainable, 
had been accomplished in an incredibly short time, for the 
Indians had worked with astonishing perseverance. 

As a general thing Indian labor is not to be relied on. 
They will work faithfully for a day or two and then, 
demanding their money, go off to some of their haunts, and 
perhaps not be again seen for weeks. But Bill knew how to 
manage them. When Dr. Knowlton had put him in charge 
of the road he had stipulated that they were not to be paid 
until the work was finished. 

“ They’ll go to yer and tell yer they’re ‘ heap sick,’ 
‘ pappoose is hungry,’ ‘ mamma che eat,’ or any other lie they 
think’ll make yer pay ’em. An' then a damned bit o’ work 
yer’ll git out o’ ’em afterward. They work pretty good 
when they know as how they’s got some ’un they can’t 
fool.” 

“ But don’t be too hard on them, Bill,” the doctor stipu- 
lated, having the softness of the east for our red brethren. 

“Too hard on ’em! I ain’t no harder on ’em than 
myself. Though I has got a grudge agin that little old 
feller.” And he pointed to a tidy-looking Indian who 
seemed particularly attentive to his work. 

“ Wal, sir, I was jest a-gettin’ over a spell o’ mountain 
fever. I hed swallered more’n a gallon o’ sage-bush tea, an’ 
was that weak I couldn’t stan’. Wal, thar comes on a cold 
snap, an’ a hole in the side o’ my cabin, whar the rocks had 
fallen down, big enough fer me ter see all the country roun’. 
Wal, that Injun he comes an’ I hired him ter fix it. He 
works fer two days, mighty contented, an’ eatin’ up all my 
grub. The next day he asks me fer his pay. ‘ Squaw heap 
sick.’ Fool like, I gives it ter him, an’ then he walks off, 
jest a-laughin’ when I called him back. An’ left me, sick as 
I was, with an openin’ in the rocks, an’ the snow a-comin’ 
in ! Wal, sir, fer a speedy cure o’ weakness, I ain’t never 


“ KA THRINE 'S HEROES. 


2 95 


found nothin’ to equal a good cussin’. I jest lay thar, a 
cussin’ that Injun, 'till I feels so strong, I gets up from my 
bunk and goes ter work, a-liftin’ heavy rock, ’till I filled in 
that hole afore night. After that, I never pays an Injun ’till 
I wants ’em ter go. No, siree,” said Bill emphatically. 

And Bill’s plan had worked to a charm. Impatient for 
their money, the Indians had hurried their work, and now 
it was completed. The ore wagons had arrived, the mer- 
chandise ordered was stored away, the new machinery was 
fixed and ready to start, and Cetewayo, with the increase of 
the mining and milling force chosen by Si, began to rouse 
herself from her long torpidity. 

“ One day’s holiday, and then for work,” Dr. Knowlton 
said at breakfast the day before the mill was to start. For 
two days the ore wagons had been hauling the rock from 
the Monster dump. There was enough to keep them busy 
for a week, and in a week Si expected to have a great deal 
more ready for them. “ Suppose we take a ride to the 
gulch and make a picnic of it. And then Kathrine will 
introduce us to the old man she calls a marvel of patience 
and perseverance,” the doctor proposed. Harry clapped 
his hands, baby imitating, and the proposition was received 
with pleasure by all. Em hurried matters in the kitchen, 
Harry ran down to the stable with Si and “ Uncle William ” 
to harness up the horses, while the “ women folks ” fixed 
lunch and gathered together all manner of wraps that no 
one would ever use. 

How beautiful the day was ! The sky of perfect blue, 
arched above the pine-crowned mountains and the great 
bald peaks. The air was just fresh enough to temper the 
sun’s heat, as the party came down the trail with nothing 
but happy faces. 

“ For my part,” said Dr. Knowlton, helping Eliza into 
the carriage, and turning to give his hand to Em, who, 


296 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


decked in her best, was holding Miss Baby, “ I find Nevada 
the most delightful of climates. Where are your vaunted 
winds ? ” 

“ Just wait awhile, and those winds will speak for them- 
selves,” said Kathrine, from her seat in the front, next the 
one reserved for the doctor. 

“ No, Kathrine, they can never be to William what they 
were to us. We were sad and lonely, hope fainting within 
our hearts,” and Eliza shuddered as the memory of those 
nights when, filled with anxious fear, the wind’s howling 
seemed the voice of her own despair, “ and for us they have 
lost their greatest terror. William has brought us strength 
and sunshine, has opened into brightness a darkening 
future.” She smiled on this tender brother, while her gentle 
words touched each heart. 

Riding along and enjoying the beauty of the day, they 
were startled by a “ Why, mamma ! ” from Harry. Looking 
in the direction he ^pointed, they saw a party of Indians on 
horseback. “ Nora and her baby,” he said. Yes, there she 
was, seated on a horse and smiling and nodding to them. 
As she came near Dr. Knowlton stopped the carriage and 
Eliza gave her money, and told her to come to-morrow to 
her “ wickiup.” She shook her head for an answer and 
said, “ Piquai.” Pete, her “ man,” was near her, but he 
looked less savage. “ Perhaps he is beginning to appre- 
ciate her gentle nature,” said Eliza, as they rode on. “ I 
am glad that we met her, for I could hear nothing of her 
and dreaded lest Pete had murdered the lovely young 
creature.” Reaching the gulch, they passed under a grove 
of sweet smelling mahogoines that now were covered with 
their delicate white blossoms. They selected a pretty clump 
of trees for their dining hall, and, securing the horses, 
walked the rest of the way, as the road had been cut up by 
the diggers. 


“ KA THRINE 'S HEROES . 


“Now for Kathrine’s friends,” said the doctor, who 
headed the little company, offering his hand every now and 
then to help Kathrine leap the great holes in the ground 
made by the gold seekers. Si said he “ ’ud look arter the 
missus an’ Em,” and baby Hannah he held fast in his arms 
while Harry and the dogs pranced around and poked their 
heads into every nook and cranny. 

“ There’s one of my heroes,” said Kathrine, pointing to 
a little old man bending over a tub of water and busily 
panning gravel. 

“ Wal,” said Si, “I don’t know what Miss Kath calls 
heroes, but an honester, more hard workin’ or unluckier 
feller than old Charlie I never seen. He’s been a-workin’ 
steady at that claim o’ his’n for nigh on ten years, an’ has 
jest made grub. Yet he don’t never complain. He has 
alius got a cheery word fer a feller, and is alius ready ef a 
feller’s down, to share with him the little he has. Look at 
all the work the fellers did here last spring,” and Si pointed 
up and down the gulch to the great heaps of gravel. “But 
there wasn’t no more water arter all the cold an’ snow, than 
that little trickling thread thar in the boxes. It do seem as 
things go orful contrarywise for the poor. But ef thar was 
a good stream, an’ we could have hydraulic workin’s, ther’d 
not be a claim here but would make its boss rich.” 

“ Is there no water that could be brought in ? ” asked the 
doctor. 

“Yes, sir, about thirty miles up the valley, there is a fine 
stream. One o’ Miss Kathrine’s friends owns it ; a mighty 
good man, but poor, sir, as all is around here. But ter bring 
in that water ’ud take a power o’ money. Thar’s Old Charlie 
a-smilin’ an’ a-bowin’ ter us.” And Si nodded in response. 

Kathrine, had walked on and spoken to the old man, and 
now, as she directed his attention to their party, he came 
forward with great pleasure and cordiality. 


298 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


He had an honest, kindly old face, which, despite its 
wrinkles, had a fresh look. He was so old a man, so small, 
that Si near him looked a youthful giant, but the blue eyes 
had not lost their twinkle, and his smile was bright and 
ready. 

Shaking Dr. Knowlton’s hand, and bowing- to Mrs. 
Merilton and Em, he looked up at Si in a voice to match 
his face — old and thin, but cheerful — saying : 

“ Wal, ole man, I thinks yer looks prime. Goin’ ter hev 
great doin’s down in Cetewayo. I hopes they’ll touch us 
up here a bit.” 

“ They shall, Charlie,” said Miss Gordon. “ Just as soon 
as good times reach the camp, you shall have some, too.” 

“ That’s like Miss Kath,” he answered, looking admir- 
ingly at her. “ An’ now, ladies an’ gents, Miss Kath has sed 
as how yer’d like ter go in my workin’s and see what an old 
feller like me has done. It’s an old arm, but sound an’ 
strong,” and he gave it a blow with his hand. 

“ Pretty good fer seventy, ain’t it, doctor ? Wal, yer see, 
thar’sa law o’ compensation, somewhere, an’ ef these mount- 
ains keeps a-hidin’ their gold from us, they gives us good 
health. Thar’s a sayin’ among us, here in the mountains o’ 
Nevada, ‘ A man’ll never die ef he only lets liquor alone.’ 
But they won’t do it, sir, sure as my name’s Charlie 
Mitchell ; in all the years I’se lived around these parts, I 
ain’t never seen a nat’ral death. But I keeps yer a-listenin’ 
ter my gassin’, instead o’ showin’ yer the tunnels, where I’se 
been a-seekin’ an’ a-seekin’ gold. I jest finds enough on it 
ter keep me lookin’ fer more. But I ain’t got no cause fer 
complaint. Miss Kath an’ me’s among the early settlers. 
When she corned, I went down to camp with the fellers, 
ter see a little gal go minin’.” 

Giving them lighted candles, he led the way into the 
tunnel. They walked through it all, hundreds and hun- 


“ KA THRINE s S HEROES. 


299 


dreds of feet, high and broad enough for the nave of a 
church. It was wonderful work for one old man. That 
one pair of arms had picked down all the rock and gravel, 
had wheeled it out on the dump, and had kept on all these 
years seeking blindly for what was, perhaps, all the time, 
just an -inch away from the point of his pick. It was 
wonderful ! 

The pathos of this man’s life touched the heart of Dr. 
Knowlton. All this vast work, all these toiling years, and 
what was the result ? Old age, poverty, and loneliness. 
Not a single helpful friend. Nothing as a promise of cheer 
to his declining years, except the pitying regard of the 
beautiful woman standing near him. Attentive and respect- 
ful, she was listening to his account of some new work he 
proposed doing, while Charlie’s candle shone on the glisten- 
ing, dark eyes, made more beautiful than ever by this dew 
of sweet sympathy. These glistening eyes decided the 
doctor against his previous determination, that Charlie was 
too old to “ attend store.” He should have it. So when 
once more out in the sunshine, he proposed it to the old 
man. 

“Try it for a month. You won’t find it fatiguing. 
There will be two clerks to help you, and, if business war- 
rants, we’ll engage more.” 

“ D’yer mean ter say yer’d really like fer me ter ’tend 
store ? ” with a look of pleasure and incredulity. And as 
the doctor bowed his head, “ Wal, sir, I’d be mighty glad 
ef I’d suit. I used ter keep a store fer myself. But that’s 
many years ago.” And he sighed — the first sigh any one 
had ever heard from Charlie. 

If Dr. Knowlton’s day lacked a single charm, it was 
filled now. For as Charlie beamed with pleasure at this 
vista of ease and comfort opening before him, Kathrine 
turned on the doctor a face so full of gratitude and love, 


306 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


it seemed to him as if birds were filling the air with song. 
What music equals that of- the heart ? 

Eliza was delighted with old Charlie. Despite his 
dialect, his manners and appearance told of gentler breed- 
ing than was usually found around the camp. “ He must 
have had a good mother,” she thought ; and as they 
walked back to the little grove, where she had invited 
Charlie to join them at lunch, she alluded to his past life 
and his mother, when the old man responded proudly : 

“ My mother, ma’am, was a real born lady. There was a 
nice farm, but a good many children. An’ I had a little 
store an’ was doin’ well, but I’d a notion o’ cornin’ out west 
an’ makin’ a great fortune. I remembers well her purty 
face a-smilin’ thro’ its tears, as I sed ‘good-by.’ ‘ Come 
home soon, my boy,’ she sed, ‘come home soon.’ ‘When I 
makes my fortun’, mother,’ I answered so bold. I was only 
twenty and a fortune seems mighty easy for a lad ter make. 
I looked back once more from the top o’ the stage, and seen 
her a-standin’ in the old porch with the vines a-movin’ all 
about her. It was the last time I seen my mother.” There 
was a break in the old voice. Years had fled, and the man 
of seventy was once more a boy. “ Wal, I went a-driftin’ 
about, a-lookin’ fer that fortune that, somehow, I alius jest 
missed. But I managed ter send the old lady a little suthin’ 
from time to time, jest ter show her I was thinkin’ o’ her 
an’ ter keep her hopes alive for that fortune, that years 
a-lookin’ fer made me think wasn’t so easy of findin’. One 
day thar come the news the old lady was dead. Her last 
words were : ‘ My poor Charlie ’ ” — the old man stopped, 
brushed the tears from his eyes, and cleared his throat. 

Eliza’s heart was aching in pity for the dying mother who 
had longed for her absent boy. The mother was at rest 
now, and the boy was an old man, but the grief lived, and 
was echoed in many another mother’s aching heart. As 


“ KA THRINE 'S HEROES .' 


301 


she looked at her own boy with his glad face and sunny 
hair she prayed God to spare her a like sorrow. 

After a little Charlie went on. His voice was husky and 
his bright old eyes were dimmed with tears. With a touch, 
memory had swept away all that intervened between him 
and that sad day which had brought the news of his moth- 
er’s death. “Wal, arter that, I had the fever, and arter 
that there come sech a longin’ ter see the dear old house, 
an’ ter set once more afore the great fire-place, an’ look 
out on the trees in the yard, that I’d about made up my 
mind ter go. Only jest then thar came ter camp a feller as 
had been with me in Californy in ’49, when we was more 
hopeful. He was an honest, hard-workin’ feller, but he’d 
been unlucky, like me. Wal, he managed ter save a thou- 
sand dollars, an’ he got homesick, an’ went ter see ef any o’ 
’em was wishin’ fer him. Wal, he corned back a-cursin’ and 
a-swearin. He said, for miles aroun’ the country folks 
came ‘ to see a feller as had been away all these years, an’ 
jest whar so much gold was found, and ter come back home 
with a pitiful one thousand dollars ! ’ An’ then they’d tell 
as how ef they’d had his chances they’d a brought back 
enough money ter build a town. God help ’em, ma’am, ef 
they’d know how hard that poor boy worked ter get that 
one thousand dollars ! Wal, they twitted an’ twitted him, 
until one mornin’ he puts down all that one thousand dol- 
lars on a table afore the old folks, just takin’ out enough ter 
pay his way back here, he says ‘ good-by ’ ter ’em, an’ he 
swore he’d starve or die like a dog, afore he’d ever go 
back, lest he got rich. So I never went ter my home. I 
didn’t have no thousand dollars even, an’ I was ashamed ter 
go back poor.” 

Poor old man ! Where is the home or the welcome for 
the unsuccessful ? 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


“THE magic of success.” 

I N the morning the mill whistle once more rang out its 
shrill command. What power was in its sound ! From 
the hour when the great hammers started their busy clap- 
ping, wonders grew in this mountain nook. For now began 
what, unless seen, seems a fairy tale — the sudden springing 
up of a city in the wilderness ; a city, with its bustle, its 
hurry, its varied business, its buildings. They were not in 
such substantial style as are cities that are built to endure, 
but any thing went up that could the soonest be made, 
ready to accommodate the inpouring multitude. Who noticed 
the howling of the wind or the fierceness of the storm ? 
Gold was here ! A great mine had been discovered, and 
its bullion sent to the outer world was more potent than 
angels’ summons. It was no false prophet. Kathrine’s 
years of labor were blossoming into glorious reality. The 
ore grew richer and richer as they sank ; it exceeded the 
owners’ wildest hopes. Before a month had passed the 
seventy-five thousand were repaid, and a handsome sum 
banked to the credit of each of the partners. Kathrine’s 
father, finding himself in receipt of a liberal allowance, be- 
gan to “ strike out,” as he wrote to her. He would inclose 
slips from journals containing allusions to Mr. Gordon, 
the owner of the rich Nevada mine. He complimented 
her on her excellent judgment in holding to the ledge and 
waiting all these years ; and then he added that he hoped 
she would not forget how faithfully he had stood by her, 


‘ THE MAGIC OF SUCCESS. 


3°3 


living in that hole, Cetewayo, when such pleasures were 
within his reach in San Francisco. One day she was 
shocked to receive a newspaper announcing the marriage 
of “ Godfrey Gordon, the millionaire, to Mrs. Francis, one 
of the richest widows on the western coast.” She sat hold- 
ing the paper in her hand feeling as if it were of the death 
of her father she had read. For he had only seemed a 
father to her because the husband of her adored mother. 
And now he had forgotten this loving, unselfish wife. The 
weekly mail for Cetewayo had advanced to a daily, so the 
same afternoon the mail brought her a letter from Mr. 
Gordon. 

My Dear Kathrine : Did you receive the announce- 
ment of my marriage ? I would have invited you down, but 
I was really uncertain how you would take it — you were 
always so absurd over your mother. I am sure she has been 
dead long enough for one to have been married several 
times. But I was always consistent, and have shown enough 
respect for her memory to satisfy the most exacting. Now 
I am married, I shall suggest to you to settle some money 
on me. With the care of a family I require capital. Mrs. 
Gordon and I are stopping at the Palace Hotel. She has a 
handsome house, of which we will take possession the first 
of January. After which date, she will invite you to visit 
us. In the meantime, calling your attention to my request 
for a financial settlement, I remain your affectionate father, 

Godfrey Gordon. 

That heartless allusion to her mother killed the last par- 
ticle of affection that had lingered in Kathrine’s heart, but 
she would settle on him every thing she had thus far made 
out of the mine ! Dr. Knowlton was now in his room. He 
would attend to the matter for her. She hurried across the 
hall, which with a large and pretty addition, had been built 
to Eliza’s little cottage. There was a room for Kathrine ; 
a large sitting-room, a bedroom, and one (half library, half 


3°4 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


office), for Dr. Knowlton. So the tiny house had, like 
Cetewayo, grown into goodly proportions. 

Excited, nervous, Kathrine tapped at the door of the 
library. Opening it and seeing how pale she looked, 
William Knowlton inquired anxiously : “ What is wrong, 

Kathrine ? ” She answered by a question, “ How much 
money have I ? ” 

“ A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” 

“ Will you have it settled at once on my father, so the 
principal is safe ? ” she asked. 

It was curious that this absurd proposition should have 
been just the thing that pleased a sharp business man. 
But that very hour, looking over accounts and papers, he 
had been thinking that it was time for Kathrine to portion 
off her father and be freed from that troublesome vow. 
He believed that all that stood between them, was this 
desire to see her father comfortable. This was the reason of 
her sudden reserves, by which, so many times, she had pre- 
vented the formal declaration of what was apparent to 
every one. Eliza had daily expected that they would tell 
her of their engagement, the thought of which delighted her, 
but with the delicacy of her own nature she made no allu- 
sion to what they wished to withhold. Now Kathrine had 
proposed the settlement, and their marriage need no longer 
be delayed. 

“ It is a goodly fortune for the old scoundrel,” he 
thought, “ but I am glad she gives it ; ” and then he said 
aloud, “ I will attend to it at once, Kathrine. But what 
troubles you ? ” 

“ My father is married,” she answered. 

He had nearly said, “ The old brute ! ” but he re- 
strained his not too complimentary opinion of his future 
father-in-law, and answered — “ I am sorry, since it troubles 
you, my girl.” 


“ THE MAGIC OF SUCCESS. 


3°5 


“ It is not that I mind his marriage, but my mother ! ” 
she compressed her lips to keep back words or sobs. 

“ Kathrine, she is where these things no longer try the 
soul ! ” Dr. Knowlton said gently. 

Kathrine, when she had told him her trouble, had leaned 
against the wall, and he had taken her hand. As he said this 
she drew her hand quickly away, and turning her tear-wet 
face to him, answered hotly, “ Is that what you think ? 
Oh ! if I were dead, and the man I loved would fill my place, 
I’d have no happiness even in heaven. If we do not carry 
hence the immortal part of ourselves, of which this thing 
called love is the intensest, then there is no immortality ! 
How can we live and know it is life, when we no longer are 
ourselves ? ” Then as swiftly as she had spoken she hurried 
to her room, closing the door, and Dr. Knowlton heard her 
sobbing from within. 

“ That old wretch,” he said, thinking of Mr. Gordon, “ he 
is always hurting her in some way. What in the world an 
old fellow like that wanted to marry for I can not see. 
Well, when he gets this money I hope he won’t write again. 
Dear girl, how intensely she feels every thing,” he thought, 
ready as always with sympathy for her. 

Each week brought greater prosperity to the camp. The 
force in the mine was increased to one hundred and additional 
stamps were ordered, for there was to be another enlarge- 
ment of the mill. Busy as the hammers were, they could 
not crush the rock fast enough. The weekly shipment of 
bullion increased to such an extent that six horses were put 
to the stage. It came dashing along the road as if proud to 
be employed in the service of such a camp as this, rapidly 
growing famous, while every spot of ground became valu- 
able. Little cabins that for years would not bring a rental 
of $20 were now sought at as many hundreds. The silent 
canyon was alive with clatter. The mountain sides were 


3°6 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


covered with tents, their camp fires making the country 
luminous. The placers realized small fortunes to their 
owners. Charlie was a capitalist now, and had been ap- 
pointed postmaster, which was no longer an unimportant 
position. Dr. Knowlton had sent for Tom, who was night 
foreman at the mine, and his wife was at the head of a 
flourishing restaurant. Kathrine’s cabin was growing into 
a stately stone edifice, the much desired miners’ home, for 
Dr. Knowlton had wished that this monument of her noble 
charity should stand where she had so suffered. They 
were partners in this, and thus the work grow dearer to 
both. At night the town was ablaze with lights, the bands 
of music at the doors of the gambling saloons adding to the 
gayety of the scene, making life in Cetewayo seem perpetual 
enjoyment. 

Sin clothes itself in pleasant garbs, that its hideousness 
may not be seen, until the soul has drunk to its depth, so 
these gambling hells were the most elegant buildings in 
town. The very finest was kept by Saloon Jimmy and Cap- 
tain Alcorn ; not that the partnership was an acknowledged 
affair. For the captain, elegantly attired, lounging near the 
door, and always ready to take a hand, seemed rather a 
good customer than any thing else. He had fairly eaten his 
heart out with rage and hate as, under the guidance and 
protection of Dr. Knowlton, he saw Kathrine and her friends 
growing happier and more prosperous each day. He would 
have waylaid and murdered him, but he dared not. He was 
the only man Alcorn had ever feared. Physically his supe- 
rior, and backed by wealth, he offered no chance for the 
captain’s revenge, for he had prevented a secret assassina- 
tion by a prearranged plan. 

On the last visit which Dr. Knowlton had made to Alcorn, 
when attending to his wound, Alcorn had asked for his bill. 
“ I would not touch such money as yours,” the doctor had 


THE MAGIC OF SUCCESS. 


3°7 


replied, “ for I have attended you only because no other 
surgeon was possible. What I have done was obligatory. I 
am a human being, and could not refuse medical assistance 
even to the worst. But I want you to understand one thing; 
if Mrs. Merilton does not at present prosecute you for your 
attack upon her house, she has not by any means decided not 
to do so. I have collected proofs against you and am ready 
to act on them at the slightest symptoms of lawlessness from 
you. My death,” for he marked the look of hate on Al- 
corn’s face, “ would only hasten matters, as my directions 
are to proceed at once against you for incendiarism, and not 
seek to find my murderer. Good-morning.” 

There was nothing for Alcorn to do but to submit. His 
only revenge was in remaining in Cetewayo, where he could 
be a perpetual eyesore to Kathrine, reminding her of her 
father’s delinquencies. But it is doubtful if she suffered as 
much as he. 

When the tide set in, bringing wealth and fame to Cete- 
wayo, Alcorn was lifted upon its waves. In the gambling 
hall opposite the store, he and Jimmy found their gold mine, 
and of late, in his stock ventures he had been very success- 
ful. Wearied with the perpetual annoyance of being just 
where he daily saw the woman he most hated and admired, 
he decided that he would go to San Francisco. Selling out 
his share of their business would give him a fine capital, and 
once in California, he would ignore his past in these mount- 
ains, and would establish himself as banker and broker. 
He knew the world too well, not to know that it would never 
inquire how the money was made. All that this world 
requires is, to have money. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


“ THE RETURN." 

C HRISTMAS had come and gone and the New Year was 
in its third month, and prosperity was still doing its 
work for Cetewayo. All the country around was filled with 
reports of it. Settlers began to come to the valley, cattlemen 
and ranchers finding fine markets, and an eastern company 
was already preparing to bring water from the stream thirty 
miles off, owned by “one o’ Miss Kathrine’s friends,” in or- 
der to attack the riches of the placers. Eliza was longing 
for her husband. All was ready for him. Why did he not 
come ? By each mail she looked for a letter announcing his 
departure from England. One day the wished-for letter 
arrived. 

It was only a line written from the steamer, “ My darling, 
I start for home to-morrow.” As with flushed face and 
parted lips she stood trying to imagine above which mount- 
ain top would first shine on her the light of her life, Harry 
bounded in shouting : 

“ Mamma, mamma, there’s a carriage coming down the 
’Frisco road, and some one is waving a handkerchief. Could 
it be papa ? ” 

His fresh young voice sounded through the house, bring- 
ing the little family to the door. 

There was no doubting it now — it was Owen. Eliza, 
snatching her baby in her arms, with Harry at her side, ran 
down to the road to welcome home her husband. Each in- 
stant was bringing him nearer, yet she who had endured so 


THE RETURN . 


3°9 


many weary months could not now wait a moment. Her heart 
was almost bursting with joy as, leaping from the carriage 
before the driver could rein in his horses, her husband 
clasped her in his arms. 

Owen had left Liverpool the day after his letter was 
mailed, had reached New York in nine days, had said 
“ Good-by ” to Mr. Howell as the steamer touched the 
wharf, and had taken the train that morning for Cetewayo. 
Arriving at ’Frisco too late for the stage he had hired a car- 
riage and started at once, and securing relays of horses, had 
made the hundred miles in one day. On the road he had 
heard some talk “ of a great mine,” but had paid very little 
attention to it, and owing to his face being newly covered 
by a beard, he had not been recognized by those who had 
known him. He had avoided conversation, for he could 
think but of his wife and children, of his little home and the 
love waiting there for the wanderer. He had passed many 
anxious hours beside the bed of his friend, had been impa- 
tient of his slow recovery, and now that he was free and on 
the road, he could hardly control himself. 

When he reached the summit and looked to see his little 
cottage sheltered by the rocks and the few straggling cabins 
that had composed the camp, he had been amazed to see a 
town ! — a large town whose houses not only filled the gulch, 
but clambered up the mountain side, even to his own home. 
There was a great mill too, with its thundering hammers, 
and its tall pipe sending out a cloud of smoke, and the little 
cottage had grown into a mansion. Anxious to surprise 
him Eliza had not written to him about their changed for- 
tunes, and now Owen felt like a man in a dream. Turning 
to the driver, he asked some questions : 

“ Why, don’t you know ? ” and the man laughed. “ I 
thought every one had heard this good news. Last fall 
there came a great man to Cetewayo, the brother-in-law of 


3io 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


that young Merilton who failed and left the country. Well, 
Dr. Knowlton, he just struck it, the first thing. He’s a 
wonderful man ! He makes every body rich he chooses. 
Miss Gordon is worth millions now, and her father’s in San 
Francisco, a spending them for her. She goes sailing 
around in silks. When I knew her first, she was mighty 
lucky to get a calico. And Merilton’s wife is rich, too ; 
perhaps he’ll come back to her, when he knows it. It was 
rather mean in the young fellow to desert her, after makin’ 
all manner of debts. But there’s nothing like golden charms 
for winning a man back to his family. They say she was 
like to die for grief, but I hear she’s all right now. Money’s 
a wonderful thing, and Dr. Knowlton’s the man to make it. 
They say he’s going to marry Miss Gordon. I don’t see 
what he finds in that proud-looking girl. She holds herself 
as if she was a queen, and, after all, she is only a poor girl, 
raised in a mining camp. But / ain’t a-marrying her,” he 
went on talking, but he had no longer a listener, for anger 
and disappointment mingled with surprise, and Owen’s joy 
was dampened by the words of this man. He thought of 
all he had endured in this camp ; of time and money sacri- 
ficed ; but these did not count in the world’s warfare. Suc- 
cess is the only standard, and failure, though it be accom- 
panied by immense effort, patience, and self-denial, is still 
damning failure. No merit is seen in the unsuccessful. 

Feeling this bitterness, Owen’s heart was turning to gall, 
as he realized how more than filled had been his place. An 
impulse came over him to turn back ; he was not needed 
here. Then standing on the porch of his house he saw a 
boy. It must be Harry, his own child. He waved his 
hand, and a moment after, running down the mountain 
path, was the figure of his wife. He would know it any- 
where — that graceful, girlish figure. And the baby — how 
she had grown ! As he came near he saw Eliza’s face radi- 


• THE RETURN. 


ant with love and happiness, and little Hannah’s out- 
stretched arms and baby voice calling “ papa, papa,” told 
him he had been kept in tenderest, most constant memory. 
The bitterness vanished and nothing but joy remained, as 
he put his arms around wife and baby, and looked down at 
his boy. 

It was an hour of great gladness in the Meriltons’ house. 
Em rushed into the sitting-room a dozen times while pre- 
paring supper, “ jest to take a look at Mars Owen.” Harry 
jumping on his knee, had whispered : “ We’re all rich now, 
and mamma has lots of money for you.” Yes, he had come 
back to the realization of his desire. But there was a thorn 
to his flower, for another, not he, had found the key to the 
golden gate. Coming in upon the family as it gathered 
around its head, Dr. Knowlton saw this cloud on Owen’s 
handsome face. 

“ He must be made to feel himself a necessary part of 
our firm,” he thought. 

And then he said : “ We’ve a good hour before supper, 

Owen ; take a walk with me and look at the town. I want 
you to see the mill. Do you know, Owen, your coming is 
very lucky for us all. We are running very rich rocks just 
now, and our amalgamator is off on a spree. I know very 
little of the business, and shall be glad to turn it over to 
more capable hands.” 

Owen’s face brightened ; he was needed after all. As the 
two gentlemen walked down to the mill, he was soon con- 
vinced of this, Dr. Knowlton showing in many ways how 
earnestly they had desired his coming. “ It is a gamble, 
and a desperate one. I had spent seventy-five thousand 
before a hammer fell, and if the mine had not ‘ panned out ’ 
I would have been just that much poorer. But we had your 
valuable legacy, Si, to help us out. He is heart-broken 
over Bob’s loss. If it were not for constant work I think 


3 12 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


he would fall into melancholia. Perhaps your coming will 
help him. He seems very much attached to you. He calls 
you ‘ one of my boys.’ ” They stopped at the mill, looked 
at the plates, which were in pretty good condition, and then 
arm in arm walked through the town, while Owen’s wonder 
grew. Was it possible that busy thoroughfare was the 
lonely little gulch with its one store! Now there were 
stores in plenty, and of every variety. As for lawyers, they 
were thick as bees in summer-time, and like the bees, were 
busy gathering their honey. Owen was anxious to hear 
every detail of Dr. Knowlton’s experience in the mountains, 
so he began the story from the moment when riding along 
they had quickened speed at the loud report of Kathrine’s 
shot-gun, and had arrived just as the men had started to 
fire a little frame house, wherein, to his amazement, he 
found Eliza and the children. 

“ What did you do with the scoundrels ? ” said Owen. 

“ Nothing except to prevent their doing any further dam- 
age. Alcorn had so shielded himself behind Mr. Gordon 
that we could not well proceed against the one and not the 
other.” 

“ And why, in heaven’s name, not proceed against any 
and every one engaged in such a crime ?” Owen demanded 
indignantly. 

“ For Miss Gordon’s sake. Eliza was not willing to bring 
misery on such a friend,” Dr. Knowlton said quietly. 

“ Are you going to marry Miss Gordon ? ” Owen asked, 
abruptly. 

“ I expect to,” answered Dr. Knowlton, and in spite of 
his quiet manner his face flushed like a boy’s. 

“ Whew ! But you have it pretty bad, old fellow. When 
is it to be ? ” was Owen’s laughing question. 

“ Soon, I think.” And then the doctor joined in the 
laugh which Owen in vain had tried to control. Owen 


“ THE RETURN. 


313 


laughed long and heartily. “ Well, you’re the last one I 
ever imagined would fall in love ! She’s a handsome girl 
and a lady. I remember meeting her once on the road. I 
remember, too, Eliza wrote to me she had saved our baby 
from a frightful death. I thought I would never rest con- 
tented until I had in some way shown my gratitude. But 
since she has won you, she takes the most valuable and 
valued part of the family. There’s nothing half so good I 
could give her. When am I to be presented to my new sis- 
ter ? She lives at our house, doesn’t she ? ” 

Owen went on so fast with his questions that Dr. Knowl- 
ton took his choice for answer. 

“Yes. When she heard of your arrival, she proposed to 
give up her room. But Eliza wouldn’t consent.” “ Eliza?” 
said Owen, with such a comical look, that they both laughed 
again. Then Owen went on. “ The idea of the grave and 
learned Dr. Knowlton falling in love like any other man ! ” 

“ You see, my boy, the blind god can not tell which way 
the arrows go, and by chance he hit the heart that I thought 
had years ago become a fossil,” Dr. Knowlton replied good 
humoredly. “ It is not that you are too old, William,” said 
Owen, his laughter still breaking out, “ but you seemed so 
far removed from any of life’s follies.” 

“ Is love a folly ? ” put in the doctor. 

“ Well, not exactly a folly ; but one doesn’t expect to see 
a sage dancing attendance on any woman, however lovely 
she may be. It is not that you are old ” Owen repeated. 

“ Forty-two.” Knowlton interrupted him. 

“ Forty-two’s not old. And I’m sure I know several girls 
in Virginia who were trying their best to impress you with 
their charms.” 

“ Were they ? ” said the doctor, as he thought of charms 
that, at the first glance, impressed themselves upon his heart, 
never to be effaced. 


3 T 4 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


Owen saw the softening of Knowlton’s face, and the smile 
left his own. 

“ Poor old boy,” he said to himself. “ He has it pretty 
bad. Hope she loves him,” he added doubtfully, still to 
himself. 

After an interval of silence Owen proposed returning. 
“ I have been so long away from Eliza I can’t afford to lose 
any more of her.” 

Dr. Knowlton touched his arm. “ Wait ! I will tell you one 
thing, Owen, that perhaps Eliza has not written you. When 
I arrived in Cetewayo I found her in a very critical condi- 
tion. She is not robust, and has always been surrounded 
by love. It is as necessary for her as food to a less delicate 
organization. She must have grieved very much over your 
absence. For without any marked disease, she had so run 
down that I really believe had not affairs brightened, and 
hope for your future sprung up, she would have gone into a 
decline.” 

Owen turned very pale. He knew Dr. Knowlton was an 
eminent physician, and had not spoken lightly. Indeed, 
his words seemed rather a solemn warning for the future 
than an allusion to the past. And so the doctor intended 
them to be. Both were very serious now, and again took 
refuge in their cigars, until they reached the trail, when 
Owen saw Eliza watching for him at the open door and 
went bounding up the mountain path to her. 

How young, happy and beautiful they were standing to- 
gether, his arm thrown around her in protecting tenderness, 
and her sweet face pressed against his heart. Looking at 
them, Dr. Knowlton’s patient waiting took to itself wings. 
He would speak to Kathrine that very night, he would not 
let another day pass as so many had done. 


CHAPTER XL. 


“ PLANS FOR NEVADA.” 

T])APA, here’s Kath,” said Harry’s voice. Turning, Owen 
1 saw a tall, gloriously formed woman, clad in some- 
thing dark and soft that fell around her in graceful folds. 
Seen thus near, her face was very beautiful, the cream of 
her skin just a little flushed, as Harry pulled her forward, 
and extending her hand with perfect grace of manner, she 
said : 

“ Ais a friend of Mrs. Merilton’s, may I say welcome 
home ? ” Owen knew she was handsome, but he was not 
quite prepared to meet here an elegant woman, for he re- 
membered Gordon as a rather gentlemanly-looking gam- 
bler, and could not understand how his daughter had ac- 
quired such manners and pronunciation. 

As in no language is pronunciation a greater test of edu- 
cation than English, Owen thought of this, while he admired 
the woman just introduced to him. 

Her face was frank and noble, as well as beautiful, and a 
lurking fear that William Knowlton had been entrapped 
changed to commendation of his taste. While they were 
still on the outskirts of pleasant intercourse, Em called 
them to supper. 

And before the meal was over, Kathrine and Owen had 
become playful combatants, keeping with their merry thrusts 
the others full of laughter, until night closed in on 
their enjoyment. The morning brought newer wonder to 
Owen. He could not shake off the feeling that he was still 


316 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


in a dream. This busy town was to him hardly real, with 
its stage dashing down the road, its streets thronged with 
people, the stores filled with silks and finery, and before them 
a perfect barricade of teams, loading and unloading. With 
its telegraph lines, and the thriving, bustling men, it seemed 
the nucleus of a world, and even at this early hour, before 
the sun had covered the mountains with his light, those 
“ hells,” where happiness and souls are lost, were tempting 
the weak to enter. 

At the door of the most showy of these establishments 
Alcorn was lounging and as Owen and Dr. Knowlton came 
out of the company’s store he bowed to Mr. Merilton, only 
sneering at the look of scorn with which Owen returned his 
salutation. 

“ I can hardly keep myself from springing on him and 
strangling his life out ! ” Owen said. 

“ Don’t, my dear boy,” answered his brother. “ Don’t 
soil your hands with such carrion. Let him alone ; he’ll 
meet a more fitting fate.” He passed his arm through 
Owen’s, as they walked, talking on the same subject. “ It 
interests me to watch the course of a man like that. In- 
variably it ends in violence. But I believe we are soon to 
lose the captain. Bill who works for us off and on, and 
who would be a most valuable man if he would give up 
drink, tells me that the captain has sold out, and intends 
going next week to San Francisco. He is going to turn 
capitalist, and looks forward to a prosperous life and pleas- 
ant occupation in lending money on good security. Bill 
says ‘ thar’s no use a-talkin’ o’ a hereafter, when fellers like 
Cap succeed.’ ‘ Poor Nevada,’ Kathrine would say, ‘ even 
the gamblers take their winnings away from her.’ It is a 
state of possibilities, with her great valleys for grazing, and 
the mineral wealth of her mountains. But, alas ! for her 
progress, all who make money here go away to spend it. 


“PLANS FOR NEVADA.' 


317 


The actual residents are poor, their taxation excessive, and 
even office holders, the gleaners of this taxation, save their 
large salaries, and, when they lose a re-election, go off to 
some other state to ‘ make a home/ as they call it. It is 
very unfair,” said the doctor gravely. 

“ It seems to me,” and Owen’s eyes sparkled with fun, 
“ that you’ve become very eloquent over Nevada’s wrongs. 
Do you intend to take up your residence among these bleak 
mountains ? ” 

“ I don’t think they are bleak,” the doctor warmly replied, 
quite forgetting that a few months before he had expressed 
this opinion. Now however he saw their beauty through 
the wonderful lens that love holds to the vision. “ Look at 
these exquisite effects of light and shade. See that valley 
with its myriad of springs and its natural pasturage. How 
little cultivation is needed to change it into fine farming 
land ! But what inducement exists for the farmer where 
freight is so expensive and markets distant ? ” 

In all seriousness Dr. Knowlton was presenting the argu- 
ments for Nevada, thinking of the woman whose life among 
her mountains had made them dear to him, and perfectly 
oblivious of the mischief sparkling in Owen’s eyes as he 
tried to listen gravely, finally breaking in with : “ But you 
have not answered my question,” and Owen could not re- 
strain his laugh as he looked at this “ victim, this lion in 
love,” as he called him. 

“ Do I intend to take up my residence here ? ” the doctor 
said musingly. “ Well, unless I am very much mistaken in 
myself and in every thing, I intend to have a residence here. 
I intend to leave some monument in'a state where I have 
found so much. I would not be such an ingrate as to dive 
into her very heart, opening her veins, and take from them 
her life’s blood without making some return.” 

“ I call that Miners’ Home you and Miss Gordon are 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


3 l8 

building a very handsome return,” said Owen. “ How will 
it be supported ? ” 

“ We intend to invest $250,000 in good security in this 
state. After deducting the current expenses, each inmate 
is to have a settled allowance of pocket money, and the 
privilege of visiting friends and taking short trips, while his 
place is kept always ready and expecting his return. If the 
mine continues as at present, we will enlarge the home and 
increase its fortune. This institution is the result of a set- 
tled plan of Kathrine’s. She wants it to be a veritable 
home, and not one of those charities, so-called, whose cruel- 
ties to the inmates fill one with horror.” 

“ Why, my dear fellow, you speak of a quarter of a mil- 
lion as if it were two pence. Do you two, in your enthu- 
siasm, intend to impoverish yourselves ? ” 

“ Impoverish ourselves ! Come, look at the figures, 
Merilton, and see what a rich man you are.” 

They went into the office, and after an hour or so over 
the books, Owen, too, felt that he must be doing something 
for Nevada. 

“ I shall have to inquire what plans Eliza has formed for 
the moral and religious advancement of this state,” he said. 
“ I, too, meekly bow to petticoat government.” 

William Knowlton smiled as he took the thrust. The two 
petticoats that the gentleman bowed to, were on the 
porch looking down the road at them, and a very charming 
pair they were as they smiled in return to Owen’s waving 
hat. 

“ Lunch is waiting,” said Eliza. “ We want an early 
start to the mine ; Si will be impatient to see you.” 

At lunch Kathrine said so many funny things that Owen 
declared that he believed she was determined to prevent 
their eating until they had all sworn to raise homes for 
every one who could be induced to live in Nevada; 


PLANS FOR NEVADA. 


319 


“ We don’t intend ever to leavq it entirely, do we, Eliza ?” 
she asked, laughingly. Eliza shook her head. 

“ And as for homes, there’s a dozen more to build — the 
home for orphan children, for old women and a school ; 
also a certain sum is to be set apart, and the interest is to 
be devoted to helping destitute families,” she went on, 
checking them off on her finger tips. “ We’ll need millions 
for charities alone. Do you think the wonderful mine will 
yield so much ? ” and she turned her radiant face on the 
doctor. 

“Yes, if it holds out as now,” he answered, looking ten- 
derly on her. 

“ Isn’t money a glorious thing ? ” she said, her lips parted 
with smiles, her eyes dazzling in their brightness. “ How 
I have longed for it ! And now it is mine, with its mighty 
powers to help distressed humanity. Oh ! the immense in- 
terest it yields, in the quieter throbbings of aching hearts, 
the softened bitterness of empty lives ! ” 

Owen turned his eyes from this bright vision to the face 
of his wife. She was smiling gentle sympathy with her 
friend’s enthusiasm. She had her own plans — he knew it ; 
her own charities that would brighten the world. 

“Tell me your project, love,” he said. 

“ By and by,” she answered. 

“ Papa, I’ve a plan.” Harry claimed his attention. “ I’ve 
my own share, you know, and I’m going to spend part of my 
money helping little boys. Mamma and Kath say there are 
lots of little boys in mining camps who have no chances to be 
any thing. I want to give those little fellows like me a 
chance. Mayn’t I, papa ? ” 

“ Yes, my boy,” said Owen, and then turning gravely to 
little Hannah, “ Well, baby, what’s your plan ? ” asked her 
father, shaking with laughter as, perfectly serious, Miss 
Baby replied : 


3 2 ° 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ My plan is to have a horsey, and a tow, and a tat, 
and ” 

“ That’s all right, my darling. Let’s hear Em’s plan,” 
and he turned to Em, who was bringing in some choco- 
late. 

“ My plan ? ” and Em’s “ yah ! yah ! ” showed all her 
ivories. “ Well, Mars Owen, I jes’ means ter stick ter Miss 
’Liza and de chillen, an’ take de trip of de world.” 

At this Owen nearly rolled off his chair with laughter, 
shouting out : 

“ My only refuge is in flight.” He started to his feet. 
“ I find myself in such a world of plans I fear I may catch 
the disease. Come, Knowlton, let us saddle the horses for 
the ladies. They, perhaps, will condescend to leave their 
mighty plans and accompany us to the mine, on which lies 
all the onus of this state’s progress. Come, old fellow,” 
he called back as he ran out of the house. 

“ I’m going too, papa. I’ve a nice little pony now.” 

So with Harry holding his hand, Owen went down to the 
stable, and Eliza having gone to attend to some domestic 
matters, left Kathrine and Dr. Knowlton alone. All the 
laughter had gone out with Owen, his happy voice floating 
back to them as they stood in the silent room. 

Dr. Knowlton had made up his mind that this masquer- 
ading with Kathrine must come to an end. Either she 
loved him enough to marry him or she did not love him at 
all. He was tired of hanging ’twixt heaven and earth. 
Seeing Owen and Eliza together had filled him with a 
strange envy. On that day when first he kissed Kathrine 
and asked her to be his wife, her reply, a shuddering “ Not 
now,” had made him take an oath that when he next asked 
her it would be a willing bride that would run to his arms. 
But, if she were not his now, would she ever be ? He had 
truly said he was no Jacob. Loving her intensely, and 


“PLANS FOP NEVADA . 


321 


having every ocular proof that she loved him, he was not 
content with the strange state of things. He wanted her to 
hold and to keep his own before all the world, his wife, his 
helpmeet. She who had fired his middle life with the pas- 
sion of youth, must become part of himself ; or, with all 
his strength, he would battle against what had usurped 
every occupation and aim of his future. He was no longer 
content with loving glances, tender tones, tremulous touches. 
He wanted her entirely, or he would live out his life apart 
from her. He was ready to serve her as a friend, but would 
never again holding out his heart beseech her to take it 
unless she loved him and took him now. This he resolved 
in the silence that fell upon them. 

She stood just within reach of his hand, but his arms were 
folded on his breast as he was looking at her with earnest 
gaze, but he took no step toward her. 

Her eyes were cast down, her lips trembled, her color 
came and went ; her nervous hands were clasped one within 
the other. 

She, too, was thinking of Owen and Eliza ; her heart also 
longed for the actual possession of its beloved. She 
thought that when next he told his love to her she would 
ask release from her promise not to speak of his marriage, 
and tell him of this jealousy that was poisoning her life. He 
was a thousandfold dearer to her than any dream of heaven, 
yet she could not be happy as only “ second best.” Per- 
haps he, who was so wise, so powerful, could exorcise this 
wicked spirit that possessed her soul. 

She felt his eyes were on her, and thought every moment 
he would speak. Raising her own, and seeing his stern, 
sad look, she turned very pale. 

“ I have displeased you,” she said, faintly, and looked as 
if she were about to fall. He started toward her. She 
took his hand and held it between her own trembling ones. 


322 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ What have I done to grieve you ? You to whom I owe 
every thing,” she said, softly. 

“ I don’t want gratitude,” he answered in a colder tone 
than he had ever used to her, and would have drawn his 
hand away, but she held it tight, clasping it to her breast. 
He felt the fluttering of her heart, saw the tears in her eyes 
and was vanquished, so he only said : 

“To-morrow, Kathrine, we will ride to the mine alone. 
I must speak to you.” She bowed her head, and he 
stooped and kissed her brow. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


“sudden calls.” 

A FEW moments later, when they were mounting their 
horses at the foot of the hill, several shots were heard 
in the town, where the busy crowd seemed all rushing one 
way. Leaving Knowlton to escort the ladies, Owen gal- 
loped down to the scene of disturbance. They reached 
him, where he was waiting for them at the turn of the road, 
looking very pale. 

“ Alcorn has been killed,” he said. “ There was a party 
of men playing cards ; one detected him cheating and 
accused him of it, and Alcorn drew his pistol. The 
bystanders noticed he looked pale and nervous. As he 
fired, his hand must have trembled, for he missed his aim, 
and almost simultaneously, the other man firing, Alcorn 
fell. A doctor was summoned, but he was dead. Bill, the 
man who killed him, your friend, Knowlton, gave himself 
up at once. He will be released, however, for several wit- 
nesses went with him who will swear that Alcorn drew his 
pistol first, saying, ‘ Curse you, I’ve let you live too long ! ’ 
The ball passed through Bill’s sleeve as Alcorn fell dead. 
And only this morning I felt like killing this man ! ” Owen 
shuddered. “ As I looked at his dead face with a sneer 
still on it, I had nothing but pity for a soul thus called to its 
last account.” 

This sudden death, though it was of a man who had tried 
his best to injure each one, threw a damper on the little 
party. Harry, galloping ahead to meet Si first, was the only 


3 2 4 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


merry one. Kathrine and William Knowlton rode along 
silently, and Owen and Eliza fell back a little and talked 
quietly together. 

“ What is your plan, dear? ” he said to her, “ for I know 
you have a good one down in your tender heart. How do 
you want to benefit humanity with this fortune that is com- 
ing to us ? ” 

Eliza had been thinking how much more like his old self 
Owen was than he had been since the day when he had 
made up his mind to come to Nevada. Now that the terri- 
ble race for fortune was over would he always be thus ? 
She prayed for it, from her soul, for without companionship 
what is love ? and her thoughts gave a tender light to her 
eyes as she answered her husband’s question. 

“ I want to build a place of refuge for fallen women. I 
believe many a woman would leave that fearful life if only 
there was some place where she could be provided with the 
means of honest livelihood.” 

As she was speaking, with loud voices and laughter, two 
young and pretty girls, their long hair streaming on the 
wind, dashed past at full gallop. It needed not their coarse 
words and bold looks to proclaim what they were, as they 
looked at the gentle lady, but did not know how full of 
sweet pity was her heart for them. 

“ Owen, for such as these do I want a refuge,” she said, 
when they were out of hearing. 

“ And do you think, love, they want your pity, or would 
enter your refuge ? ” 

“ Perhaps not, now. But there comes a day when their 
souls sicken at their life, and they would be thankful to 
hide their wretched past in a safe and comfortable refuge.” 

“ Sweet wife,” and he took her hand, “ together we will 
work out your plan.” 

By the time they reached the mine, Si and Harry were 


“ SUDDEN CALLS." 


325 

waiting to welcome them. In this grave-looking man Owen 
would hardly have recognized good old Si, with his broad 
face broadening into hearty laughter. Dr. Knowlton had 
told him of the lingering fancy of his illness, his approach- 
ing death ; and looking at him Owen thought that if his 
feelings were as altered as was his body, it was not strange. 

Even now, delighted as he was to see “ one o’ my boys,” 
there was not a trace of his old jollity about him, as, putting 
his arms around Owen’s shoulders, he said : 

“ Doctor, here’s the best minin' man in the country fer 
his experience. I never taught nobody I was as proud on 
as Mr. Owen. I was tellin’ the doctor that when you corned 
back he wouldn’t need me.” 

“ Not need you, Si ? Indeed we do, old man,” said 
Owen ; and Eliza added : “ We couldn’t get on without 
you. Even baby keeps asking, ‘ Where is my pitty Si ? ’ ” 

Kathrine and Dr. Knowlton came near, each and all mak- 
ing much of him who had been the truest of friends. 
When they told him of Alcorn’s death, he took off his 
miner’s cap and said reverently : 

“ Lord ha’ mercy on him. I’d not like ter have his sins 
on my soul, ef I got ter hev sich a sudden callin’.” Owen 
went through the mine and was delighted with its working. 
The old man was so particular in explaining all his plans, 
that Owen said to him laughingly : 

“ Why, Si, old fellow, I shall have nothing to do with this 
branch of the business. I’m already engaged as amalga- 
mator.” 

“ Never mind the mill, Mr. Owen ; jest look arter the 
mine. That’s o’ more consequence.” And so he went on, 
dilating on each detail, and giving Owen the benefit of his 
experience in working on this rock. 

“ Yer see, sir, we miners never knows when we’re goin’. 
Leastwise no man knows. But a miner takes odds again’ 


326 A PLUCKY ONE. 

his life every day. I ain’t superstitious, but somehow, 
sence my Bob went, I has kep’ things in order, for I’se 
willin’ ter go when I’se called.” 

“ Si,” said Owen, “ don’t talk that way. We are your 
friends, and we depend on you.” 

“ Wal, sir, I ain’t a-goin’ ter seek my death. Ef I was a 
little younger, I might get over losin’ Bob. But yer can’t 
teach old dogs new tricks ; an’ I has been sech a many 
years jest a-follerin’ that young feller, that .somehow, kind 
as yer all has been, I feels lonesome like. But, sir, please 
don’t say nothin’ ter missus. I’d not have those pretty 
eyes o’ hern shed tears fer me.” Then giving himself a 
sounding blow on the chest, he said : “ Thar’s lots o’ 
strength left in this old hulk, an’ mayhap, as how I’ll live 
fer many a year ter come, and see that pretty baby o’ yourn 
grow up a big gal. But as I was a-sayin’, ’tain’t no harm 
done, ef yer jest hears all my plans an' sees all the workin’s. 
It’ll take some time, so yer’d better tell the missus.” 

They went out together, where in the bright sunshine 
Eliza, Kathrine and Dr. Knowlton were waiting. Si had 
not looked so happy since Bob’s death, as with his arm 
thrown around Owen he smiled down on him. “ I teached 
him all he knows an’ he knows a lot, I tell yer, doctor. I’ll 
give him my certificate fer a first-class superintendent. 
Yer don’t mind my keepin’ him from yer fer a little, will 
yer, missus ? ” And Si’s voice took a softer tone as he spoke 
to Eliza. 

“ I alius feel as ef I was talkin’ ter an angel. She smiles 
jest as ef she’d been in heaven,” he said to Owen, as they 
stood looking after them riding down the road. In the 
evening Si came home with Owen, and Eliza made him 
stay to tea. Harry leaned on his shoulder, baby climbed 
on his knee and patted his face, and the old man seemed to 
throw off his melancholy and brighten into something like 


“ SUDDEN CALLS: 


327 


happiness among these friends who for his honest worth 
valued him as one of themselves. He did not bid them 
good-night until late. As they stood shaking hands with 
him he said : 

“ Miss Kath, the camp’s come out fust class. Ef Bob 
could only ha’ lived ter see it ? ” 

“ I believe he does see it,” Eliza said gently. 

“ Do yer, missus, do yer believe it ? ” and he covered her 
hand with his great big one. “ God bless yer, God bless 
yer. I usn’t ter believe thar was a God, but yer has made 
me change my mind. Good-night.” 

They were all seated at breakfast next morning. Dr. 
Knowlton had just said: “Will you be ready to ride in 
a half hour?” and Kathrine had bowed assent, when a 
horse was heard galloping up to the door. There was a 
hurried knock ; without waiting for it to be answered, the 
door was thrown open and a voice shouted : 

“ Dr. Knowlton, come, quick ! Si Doone is dying.” They 
all sprang to their feet. 

“ Kathrine, bring my case of medicines and instruments 
to the foot of the hill, with some linen,” said Dr. Knowlton, 
hurrying to the door and down to the stable. 

The messenger was leaning against the house, exhausted, 
while his horse, covered with foam, stood panting at his 
side, as Kathrine ran down the hill with the articles for the 
doctor, and Eliza brought a cup of tea to the young man, 
who was crying bitterly. 

He was a new hand, hardly more than a boy, whose duty 
it was to assist in filling the ore buckets at the mine. 

“This was how it happened,” he said. “ I was standin' 
down in the bottom level waitin’ for the other bucket to 
come. I had jest filled one an’ was a-watchin’ it go up, an’ 
Si was lookin’ at some rock an’ I thought was about a 
hundred feet off, when I hears his voice shoutin’, ‘ Look- 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


3 28 

out, boy ! ’ As I turned to see what he meant he grasped 
my shoulder and threw me far off. The great bucket came 
down with a heavy thud, an* oh Lord, oh Lord, Si was 
under it ! Some one gave the signal, the bucket was raised, 
an’ in a second they had him out an’ lyin’ on some canvas. 
His eyes was shut. ‘ Go for the doctor,’ some one said, 
an’ so I corned,” and then he fell to sobbing and crying 
again. 

At the foot of the trail Kathrine stood waiting as Dr. 
Knowlton came out of the stable, leading his horse. 

“ Good-by, darling,” he said, “ I may not see you for 
some time, for I shall not leave Si as long as there’s a 
chance of helping him.” 

Her lips trembled, she tried to speak. It seemed to her 
amid these terrible, these sudden takings off, that he, whom 
she loved, was in danger. 

“ Let me go with you,” she said, and he answered : 

“ I think you had better not. He is at the bottom, and 
may not be able to be moved. I will not leave him for a 
moment. I can not forget how, for a long time, he was 
your only friend. Believe he is dear to me for that reason 
alone.” 

“ It is of you I think,” she said, in a hurried whisper, her 
face blanched to ashy white. “ It is not that I do not 
appreciate that noble man. I would gladly give every 
thing I have and go back to poverty to save him. But 
you', you are my life, I can not live and think you are in 
danger. And to-day death seems everywhere.” He took 
the trembling hands clasped in entreaty and kissed them 
passionately. 

“ I will not be in danger. Good-by, sweetheart.” And 
he was dashing down the road, now lost to sight, now 
coming in view again, and then once more disappearing. 
With beating heart, Kathrine stood watching the road long 


“ SUDDEN CALLS. 


3*9 


after he had vanished. A few moments later Owen passed 
her, galloping after the doctor. She did not see him. 
Every thought was absorbed in William Knowlton. 

Owen glanced at her for a moment. “ She loves him,” 
he thought, and then forgot her, thinking of Si. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


“ GRAND OLD SI.” 

H E lay dying at the bottom of the shaft — grand old Si ! 

Dying. In the midst of the work he had planned 
and directed. 

On reaching the mine, Dr. Knowlton had found a group 
of men at the mouth of the tunnel, and another group lean- 
ing over the shaft, listening for the faintest sounds from 
below. Stopping all work, he told twelve of the miners to 
wait, as he might need their assistance, assenting, however, 
when the whole shift asked leave “ ter stay.” “ Who is with 
Si ? ” he asked. “ Tom,” they answered. 

Then stepping into the bucket he went down over a hun- 
dred feet, where several candles sticking in the rock threw 
their light on the old man’s face. It was drawn in suffering, 
but not a murmur escaped the brave lips, while Tom was 
kneeling at his side with tears streaming down his cheeks. 
He whom Si had saved from destruction and helped to lead 
a better life now watched beside this noble friend, powerless 
to soothe one pang. 

“ Is there no hope, doctor ? ” he whispered. The doctor 
shook his head, for William Knowlton knew that human aid 
was powerless here, but he held his finger up to command 
silence, for it was a holy place, sanctified by a hero’s pain. 

In this intense suffering, not a groan escaping from the 
compressed lips, the eyes closed and heavy beads of sweat 
standing out on his brow, there was a heroism which awed 
even a doctor. He could not save Si’s life, but, oh ! — 


33 1 


“ GRAND OLD SIR 

blessed profession that alleviates human ills !— he could 
quiet that pain. So he put a few drops of some liquid on 
Si’s lips, and gradually the tremors of agony were stilled, the 
drawn lines of his face grew softer, he opened his eyes, 
smiled and said “ Thank yer.” Then, “ Doctor, be kind ter 
the lad who was fillin’ the buckets.” He would not say 
“ the lad who caused this agony,” but he looked a little 
anxious until he heard the doctor’s, “ I promise.” Then he 
smiled again and sank into a doze. The doctor whispered 
in Tom’s ear to have a netting rigged up of heavy ropes, and 
to send to Mrs. Merilton’s for a large mattress. “ I shall 
try to have him carried up,” he said. Tom jumped into the 
bucket, and was quickly on his way to do the doctor’s bid- 
ding, for the poor fellow was half wild with grief. Above 
he met Mr. Merilton waiting to go down. 

“ Is he conscious ? ” whispered Owen. “ Yes,” answered 
Tom in the same low voice, and Owen took his place in the 
bucket. Every one whispered now in the mine. The great, 
rough fellows went on tiptoes, thinking of him who lay dying 
so far below that they might have stamped and he would 
not have heard it. They could do nothing else to show 
respect for this man, whose life had been above reproach, 
and to whom death had come in saving the life of another. 

Owen reached the bottom as Si was waking from his doze, 
and the sweat on his face told that the pains were on him 
again. But he looked up, and smiling at Owen said, “ My 
boy.” He tried to put out his hand, but the strong arm^ 
yesterday so full of vigor, had not power to lift the weight 
of his hand, so Owen took the poor, bruised hand, raising 
it reverently to his lips. 

The doctor watching, his patient, saw that the pain was 
becoming too great to be borne and again put a few drops 
of the magic medicine on Si’s lips. Again science was 
victor over matter, and the sufferer had relief. 


33 * 


A PLUCKY 0K£. 


11 Doctor/’ he said, “ could I see the sunlight afore I die ? ” 

“ Yes, Si, you shall,” answered the doctor. 

Resting content in the promise of a man who had never 
failed in his word, Si again fell asleep. It was past noon 
when he awoke. At his side, occasionally touching his pulse, 
Dr. Knowlton was trying to fight off death for a little while, 
but the pulse was becoming fainter and the men working on 
the netting had not yet finished. 

“ The missus tried when I was sick ter talk about relig- 
ion.” Si’s voice was very weak. He stopped as if to 
gather strength. “ Ef it would ease her heart, I’ll see the 
priest. Can yer get him fer me ? I ain’t never been 
sprinkled. But I’se willin’ ter be. I’ve believed there’s a 
God sence I knowed the missus.” He stopped again. He 
was failing very fast. “ I’d like ter see the missus, the chil- 
lern, Miss Kath an’ Em. I’d like ter thank ’em all.” 

His voice died out in a whisper as Owen answered, “ Very 
well, Si. You shall have every thing we can give. God 
knows, I wish we could do more.” His eyes were misty 
with tears, for this true-hearted man going on that mys- 
terious journey. 

The afternoon was far advanced as the net was let down. 
It was secured to the main ropes by ropes at each corner. 
The mattress was placed in it and then Si. Tenderly, ten- 
derly they lifted that broken body, but only the doctor knew 
its agonies. Then Dr. Knowlton at the head and Owen at 
the foot, stretched themselves full length to keep the mat- 
ting squared. Thus began the perilous ascent. As the 
miners, who had helped to move Si, saw the two gentlemen 
take these places, two or three volunteered to replace them. 
“ Doctor,” said one, “ we’re more used to climbin’ an’ hang- 
in’ to ropes than you are ; let us do it.” 

But the doctor would not. In Si’s state he would not 
leave him for a moment. At his head he could watch the 


“ GRAND OLD SI.' 


333 


face of the patient, and then, no man knew better, the 
immense strain, both nervous and physical, of this post. 
So he would not yield his place and Owen would not be 
outdone in generosity. When those above, slowly turning 
the windlass, saw the strange group, a thrill of horror ran 
through them. They never forgot how two brave men had 
placed themselves in deadly peril to gratify the dying wish 
of a miner like themselves. On reaching the top, the men 
caught the net and drew it to a place of safety. Then they 
helped the doctor and Owen from the unnatural strain of 
their position. Both were stiff, and both had bleeding 
hands, where they had pressed against the rock during the 
ascent, but what was that compared to the sufferings of the 
man before them ? 

Outside, the miners had fixed an awning of canvas 
where the view was most beautiful, and Eliza had sent soft 
mattresses and wraps, that Si might be made as comfortable 
as possible. They were all there waiting for the priest (who 
had only lately reached the camp), every eye filling with 
tears as the sad procession came in sight and the helpless 
giant was laid on his last bed. 

Si’s face was deadly pale, but when Baby Hannah in Em’s 
arms stretched out her hands and called, “ My pitty Si,” he 
smiled. As soon as he was laid down and the doctor had 
administered some medicine they all moved aside and left the 
priest with his penitent. 

“Be quick, father,” whispered Doctor Knowlton, “he 
has not long to live.” The priest, a tall, benevolent-look- 
ing man, bowed his head. He leaned over the dying man, 
and in response to some questions Si answered in a voice 
that surprised them all by its power. 

“ Wal, sir, I don’t know much ’bout religion, but I be- 
lieve thar’s a God, an’ I’se willin’ ter believe all the missus 
believes. She can’t go far wrong.” This was Si’s profes- 


334 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


sion of faith. Then Mrs. Merilton came forward and stood 
beside his bed, looking like the angel he had called her, and 
his face turned in affection toward this frail creature who 
was to outlast him. Then the waters of the church were 
poured on his head, and to the eyes of faith this man had 
become as a little Child. 

His ministering over, the priest moved away and knelt in 
prayer. There was silence for a moment. Si, who now 
seemed free from pain, looked first on one face and then on 
another. Owen and Eliza were on one side with Em and 
baby Hannah. On the other was Kathrine with her arms 
around Harry. The boy’s bright face was red with weep- 
ing for “ poor Si.” Standing a little behind, his eyes fixed 
on Si, was the doctor, and grouped a little way off, with 
sorrowful faces, were the miners. Most of them had waited 
of their own will, hoping to be called to do some service for 
him, who had been ever ready to serve them all. Si looked 
at the men. How many times they had all worked together ! 
How many mines they had helped to explore ! But this was 
the end ! He wanted to call out and wish them good luck 
and honest lives. But he, whose voice had held such power, 
could only just speak aloud, so his eyes came back to 
the faces near him, where tears were now falling for 
him. 

“ Friends, friends all ! ” he said, in a faint voice, “too 
good an’ kin’ ter an ignorant old chap like me.” 

Then he looked across the valley to the mountains, where 
in a broad band of flaming clouds, the sun was going to 
rest, while the vault of heaven was a bright, exquisite 
blue. 

“ Goin’ ter rest, like me, old feller.” And then he smiled 
at his fancy. “ The world’s mighty pretty. Miss Kath, it 
didn’t look so pretty an’ peaceful when we stood here last 
New Year’s night — me an’ Bob a-talkin’ ter Cap. Poor old 


“ GRAND OLD SI. 


335 


Cap. I forgives him. I forgives even Nath. I feels sorry 
for 'most every one. Doctor, I ain’t in no pain now. An’ 
such a peace here ! ” He couldn’t move his hands, but he 
looked down on his heart. Over his face, seamed and lined 
with years and hard work, came a look, almost of beatifica- 
tion — the homely features were glorified. 

They could not speak for sorrow, they were losing an 
honored friend, a noble man. And yet, if death can be 
called happy, this was happy. He was dying amid those 
who loved and honored him ; dying a noble sacrifice, with 
good will for all and malice toward none, and his epitaph 
would be written in tender memories. Again he looked at 
each dear face, and his eyes rested on baby Hannah. “ My 
little gal,” he said. Instantly her baby voice cried, “ Tiss 
me, pitty Si,” and she held out her arms. 

“ Em, put the little gal here. Let me feel once more those 
soft hands o’ hern. She can’t hurt me, missus,” as Eliza 
started in affright. “ Put her at my head, my little gal.” 
And so the baby sat close to his head, patting him with her 
soft dimpled hands, while his life was fading, even as those 
glorious clouds in the west. 

He lay quiet and peaceful, occasionally speaking as if to 
himself. “ Friends, friends all,” they heard him say. Just 
as the setting sun, resting on the mountain tops, sent out a 
last gleam of brightness, a change came over Si. He had 
been so still they thought he was dozing, but now he started 
as if some hidden vision had come before him. “ Oh ! ” he 
said. A look of wonder passed into his eyes, then a smile ; 
and then, without a moan, without a struggle — death. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


“ UP AMONG THE PINES." 

I '' HE world moved on, even the little world of Cetewayo, 
just the same as before the two tragic deaths which 
came so close together. The miners resumed their work 
with Owen as superintendent. The mill kept up its pound- 
ing and the whistle rang out its shrill warning that life and 
time were flying for the living, as surely as they had flown 
for the dead. But Si was mourned deeply, with more than 
outward signs of woe, his lost wishes faithfully fulfilled. 
They were explicitly stated in Si’s will, written by himself, 
and found wrapped in newspaper with Bob’s picture. On 
the outside was “ privet papers,’’ and inside on a large piece 
of paper he had written, “ My last will an’ testermint." 

“ I begs of yer, frend Dr. Knowlton, ter see ef yer can 
fin’ out Bob’s sister. His muther an’ farther is both ded. 
But he had a sister, an’ ef she lives, mayhap she’d be glad 
ter have a token of a man as loved Bob. Her home was in 
Decatur, 111 . An’ her married name was Mrs. Sally Hall. 
I leaves ter her all my savin’s ’cept $400. The muney yer’ll 
fin’ tide in a old piece o’ buckskin inside the foot of my 
bunk. Please sen’ $300 to Polly, Bob’s wife. She’s a livin’ 
somewhere near Salt Lake. Sam Brown’ll tell yer. Bob 
loved that gal, so I jest leaves her a little suthin fer his 
sake. I knows she’s hard up. Thet kind is alius hard up. 
Out o’ the $190 will yer please ter buy suthin fer the two 
chillun. Git the baby a locket an’ tell her it’s from a man 
who, if he’d lived an’ she’d a needed it, ’ud worked all his 


“ UP AMONG THE PINES. 


337 


life jest ter sarve hers. Git suthin fer Harry, an’ tell him 
I’d like ter seen him growed ter be a man. Get suthin for 
Em. She’s bin mighty good ter me. The two little nuggets 
in the bag give ter the missus an’ Miss Kath. Ask 'em jest 
ter keep ’em in ’membrance of me, who was ever grateful. 
Ter Mister Owen I leave Bob’s picter. An’ fer yer, frend 
doctor, I leaves my Bible. It’s new, I ain’t never used it. 
I leaves it ter yer, p’raps yer’ll rede in it suthin o’ gratitoode. 
I’m that grateful ter yer fer all the good you’ve done this 
camp, an’ all my friends. Ef yer’d only come a little sooner 
I think my Bob ’ud ha’ been living this day, fer yer seems to 
have the power of makin’ men do as yer will. Well, God 
bless yer all. An’ here’s hopin’ yer may have many years o’ 
happiness, an’ tellin yer not ter greve fer one who is willin’ 
ter go. I signs this paper fer my las’ will an’ testermint. 

“ Silas Doone.” 

Dr. Knowlton read this badly worded, ill spelled document 
with reverence. He spared no trouble to find Sally Hall, 
Si’s principal legatee. After considerable correspondence 
he succeeded. She had been reduced to poverty, and was 
a widow with two young boys. Si’s legacy of ten thousand 
dollars placed her above want, and Si's memory was en- 
shrined in a gratefu Iheart. The money sent to PollyGould- 
ing was not acknowledged, except by the canceled draft. 
Si’s legacies to his dear friends were kept as sacred remem- 
brances. The little Bible Dr. Knowlton put among his 
most prized books, and Bob’s picture hung in Eliza’s sitting- 
room. 

Three weeks had passed since Si’s funeral, and while the 
dear old friend was not forgotten, life had gone back to its 
accustomed channels. 

The Miners’ Home, now near completion, had become a 
stately edifice. Every day Kathrine visited it to see how 
much it lacked of being ready for occupancy. Just where 


338 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


the old cabin had stood, in which she had suffered and 
dreamed, was the repayment and realization. And all was 
due to him who from the hour of his coming had stood be- 
tween her and her troubles ! She was thinking of him and 
of his strength, of his power over all his surroundings, and 
of his tenderness, when his voice said softly : “ Dreaming, 
Kathrine ? " 

Her answer was a look. But a man would have been 
hard to satisfy if the look were not answer enough. He 
drew her hand in his arm. “ Come, let us go up higher 
onjthe mountain, I am suffocated to-day. This busy little 
world and the clamping of the mill disturb me strangely." 
So they went, climbing the rocks until, two tiny specks 
against the sky, they stopped to rest. 

They were alone — alone, in a world of their own. 
Mountain tops above mountain tops looked down on them ; 
the fragrant pine welcomed them to these magnificent 
heights. 

Far away at their feet was Eliza's cottage, and down 
in the canyon lay the busy little town. Of its bustle and 
turmoil, the pounding of the mill, only a faint murmur 
reached them. Humanity, suffering or joyous, was too 
far distant to move them now. For in this crisis of their 
lives, each heart held but the other. 

Kathrine knew what was coming to her. There could 
no longer be delay or uncertainty. Her heart beat so 
loud, she thought its throbs would deafen her, even to 
his voice. She was waiting, longing ; and yet through 
it all she felt a gnawing jealousy of his past — a filled and 
happy past to which she who loved him with her whole 
being was a thing apart. 

But she had thought it over, and had decided she 
would not, she could not, refuse even the second place 
in his heart. And now she stood waiting, looking over 


UP AMONG THE PINES. 


339 


the great valley to the greater mountains beyond. He was 
looking only at her. Glorious as the scene was for him, 
it but formed the background to her perfect figure. 
Her eyes were downcast and her lips were trembling. 
Spite of their slight compression they spoke but of love. 

He caught the slender hands clasped together and held 
them in his. She was his own ; he knew it. Her face 
could not falsify. He had won the crown of his life ; 
there was to be no more hesitation, no more uncertainty. 

“ Darling,” he said, and drew her to his breast. Close 
against that strong heart she lay, panting with excess of 
joy. Her eyes drank love from his. 

“ To-morrow, love, you will be my wife. I will not waste 
another day of life without you, my dearest self.” 

Why could she not feel one passion at a time ? Why in 
that moment of joy, the like of which could never again 
enter her life, must that hideous jealousy rear its head from 
her garden of roses ? 

Yet even while his eyes, filled with love, were gazing into her 
own, and his voice of infinite tenderness was calling her 
his “ life,” there came between her and the face she loved, 
another face — Sybil’s. It was a woman she had never 
seen, whose face she knew not. Yet Sybil, pale, unearthly, 
stood between her and her love. Sybil’s voice drowned 
the music of that other voice, and above his tender words 
rose an unearthly whisper from that other, that first chosen 
wife. 

“He was mine first, he will be mine last. Yours only 
for a little while. Yours only to fill the vacant place left 
by my death. Away, thief ! You who believe in immortal- 
ity, do not steal my husband’s heart. Give him up. Dare 
you rob the dead ? ” 

Kathrine’s face turned ghastly pale, her eyes dilated, 
holding in their vision only this specter of her fancy, this 


340 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


morbid result of her broodings. She put out her hands to 
push away those dead fingers seeking her throat, and 
gasped, “ I can not, I can not.” At her first repulse he had 
loosed his hold, his face paling like her own. At her words 
he stepped back in amaze. 

“ Can not marry me ? ” he exclaimed, as she fell almost 
prone before him. What was true if she were false ? 
Were those tender tones, those languid eyes, all a lie ? 
The world seemed slipping from him, as with hand pressed 
to his head, he tried vainly to steady his thoughts, and 
looking at the shattered fragment of his life, make some 
plan and method for his -future. He would go away. 
Where ? Where could he go, and not be haunted by this 
fearful mistake that had made of him a madman ! For, as 
he looked at her, lying at his feet, there came to him a 
frantic impulse to catch her in his arms and leap off this 
jutting rock into the depths below. He felt the delight of 
flying through space thus, with her on his heart, and could 
hardly keep back a wild laugh. His breath came quick and 
fast ; fire, not blood, -was in his veins, and his brain reeled 
with a strange intoxication. 

With set teeth and glaring eyes, he stooped toward her ; 
already his hands had touched her. A moment more and 
their two bodies should cleave the air, in that glad leap into 
eternity. Then, with one supreme effort, reason asserted 
herself, and, dashing aside this maddening desire, he fled 
from insanity. 

She had felt his touch, was turning to beg his pardon, 
when she saw him springing from rock to rock and hasten- 
ing away from her. She put out her arms and called his 
name. He thought it only the voice of madness, and 
dared not turn. To see or touch her then was to hurl his 
soul and hers to death — a frightful, ghastly death. Suddenly, 
stepping on a huge rock that had stood for centuries, and 


UP AMONG THE PINES. 


341 


a 


seemed as if it would still stand when he and his passion 
had become things of dust, it moved, rolled down and upon 
him, holding him a captive. 

Kathrine saw the rolling rock, saw the cloud of dust, and 
saw no more of that wildly leaping figure that had been 
carrying her life away with it. 

Breathless with agony she hastened toward the spot. 
The rock hid him from view. Thank God, he was not 
under it, for as she saw the rock roll down, a vision of Si’s 
frightful death came before her, and she cried : 

“ Save him, oh, Christ, save him ! ” While upon her 
was an agony exceeding death. 

Then she passed the rock and saw her lover. 

He was lying helpless, but not crushed. By a hair’s 
breadth, the rock had stopped. It had caught his coat, but 
his body was free. His foot, jammed in between the smaller 
stones, held him captive, and there was a wound on his 
head from which the blood was flowing. A ghastly wound 
it looked to the woman that loved him, but his heart 
was beating, and, weeping tears of joy, she fell upon his 
breast. She twined her arms about him, kissed his face, and 
called him back to consciousness. 

It was a narrow escape from fearful death. One-half 
inch more and William Knowlton’s strong frame would have 
perished. To him the fall had been a mercy, for the flow 
ing blood eased his hot brain, his will shook off its lethargy, 
and he was again master of himself. At the instant he fell 
and the rock rolled toward him, he believed death upon 
him, and a thousand things rose before him. Kathrine 
loved him. Yes, she loved him. He had wronged her by 
his doubts. There was some hidden cause for her words, 
but she was not false. “ Forgive me,” he murmured ; then, 
turning suddenly sick, he fainted. He heard a sweet, terri- 
fied voice calling him ; he felt soft kisses and tears on his 


342 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


face, the darkness of unconsciousness was broken, but yet 
he lay quiet, listening to her tender words. 

“ I love you, I love you, my darling ; do not die. How cold 
he is growing ! Oh, God, is it death ? Dying, dying, with- 
out one word for me to live on all these years ! Help, 
help ! ” Her wild shriek called to her aid the man who so 
deeply loved her. 

“ If I am dying, love, it is with happiness,” he said, and 
smiled up at her. 

It seemed to her that he had come back from the dead. 
She covered him with kisses, her tears of joy rained upon 
his garments, consecrating them forever, and in the ecstasy 
of the moment he forgot the pain that made him faint. 
She it was who first recalled it to his mind, when, still 
weeping, trembling, she said 

“ William, what can we do about your foot ? I can not 
move the rock.” Then the knowledge of pain came back. 
Strong as she was, she could not stir the bowlder, though 
she tried with all her might. 

He told her to take his knife from his pocket and cut 
the coat which kept him from helping himself. When, slip- 
ping out his arms and sitting up, with their united effort 
the rock was pushed away. Cutting off the boot from the 
swollen foot with an “ ah ” of relief, he leaned against the 
rock, and drew Kathrine down beside him. 

“Now, my dear girl,” he said, “there is some reason, 
some cause which makes you dread marriage. Tell it me. 
You love me, I believe you love me. Do you ? ” 

“ With all my heart,” she answered. 

He was holding her trembling hands in one of his, and 
with the other raised her blushing face. What a lovely face 
it was ! The dark eyes were still humid with tears. Wait- 
ing for his answer, he was sorely tempted to kiss her, but 
this matter must be settled, for he was no child to play 


“ UP AMONG THE PINES. 


343 


with a passion, nor had this face he looked on aught that 
was childish. It was a face full of love and such truth and 
strength as had no part with falsehood or shame. And yet 
souls as noble as hers had erred, pure as hers had fallen. 
Not through their fault, but in the breadth and greatness 
of self-sacrifice. He whose profession led him into the in- 
nermost sanctuary of lives, knew many a sad page of human 
history, and its knowledge taught him infinite compassion. 
But whatever blight had fallen on this life he wanted to bind 
to his own it was not her sin. And he was not afraid to for- 
give it and trust her. 

“ Answer, love,” he said, “ there is nothing you have 
done, nothing you could do, that I would not forgive, and 
love you just as now.” 

She sighed deeply, and then blushed, and then paled. 
She had thought of this so many times, had longed to tell 
him, and yet now the time had come, she felt ashamed to 
say what, had she not been bound by that promise, she would 
have told before. But confession is difficult ; it is difficult 
to put in words secret thoughts and hidden feelings; only a 
passion can set these free and feel no hot blush, or weak hesi- 
tation. It was all the harder now when he had been given 
back to h?r, and in her joy all lesser feeling had paled. 

Must her hand be the one to open that grave and give to 
his life the ghost that haunted hers ! She still hesitated 
until he said : 

“ Darling, if there is any thing in your past that you 
think stands between us, so you love me, it ceases to exist. 
All that could separate my life from yours is, that you do 
not love me.” 

“ It is not of my past, but yours,” she said sadly. 

“ What do you know of my past ? ” His voice had a tone 
of constraint, his hands released their hold. 

“ I know that you were married. I know the freshest 


344 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


love of your life was another’s. That I am taken because 
Sybil, your first love, your true wife, is dead. When I have 
been happiest, she has come between us and with her cold 
hands has torn me away. When your voice was tenderest, 
hers has drowned it with an unearthly whisper. She is to 
me an actual existence. She makes me feel a Hagar, 
to be sent into the wilderness when Sara claims her own.” 

She spoke with a quick passion, her trembling hands 
covered the hot face, and now that she had finished, the 
short, gasping breath was full of agitation. 

He was looking at her, amazed. Was it possible that on 
this rock his life had been nearly wrecked ? Was it possible 
that a woman of Kathrine’s depth should be the victim 
of such arrant folly ? And yet, he might have known that 
folly in strength is madness. What suffering she had 
endured ! Poor, dear girl ! 

Construing his silence into what she dreaded, she 
whispered : 

“ Forgive me, if I have caused you pain in bringing your 
dead to you. But, if you grieve for the past, how can you 
love the present ? And loving once, how could you forget ? ” 

She turned on him her passionate face, with its large eyes 
and trembling lips. 

How stern he looked ! He seemed not to see her as he 
said : “ Yes, it is better so.” Then from that gazing in the 

past, he came back to her. He had not heard her last 
words, but her flushed, agitated face, moved him more than 
any words. 

“ Child,” he said sadly, “ my past has nothing but will 
waken your pity. I had thought it, with its bitterness and 
folly, a dead past, never to rise and mock me again. I had 
believed, from the moment I first saw your face, it was a 
thing forgotten. But, that in the future no phantoms of 
falsehood may hide my love from you, you shall see the 


n 


UP AMONG THE PINES . 


ft 


345 


skeleton that transformed my youth to age and made the 
sight of woman hateful to me.” 

Then, folding his arms and with his face grown sterner 
he began : 

“ I was young and rich, she was beautiful and poor. She 
married me for money, I married her because I thought she 
loved me, and I wanted a suitable companion and guide for 
my little sister, some one who would love her and be bound 
by family ties. I was a student, devoted to my books and 
profession, hearing nothing of the gossip of society, or I 
might have known of an attachment that for years had ex- 
isted between Sybil and a young man who, though dissi- 
pated, loved her. If any suspicion of this had ever been 
breathed to me I would not have come between them, but 
would have helped to smooth away the difficulty which pre- 
vented their marriage — his poverty. A month after we were 
married, Sybil, in a fit of temper, herself told me of this 
love, and that I had ‘ bought her, but not her heart.’ She 
was a pettish creature, violent but not enduring in any 
sentiment. This, however, was a step beyond pettishness, 
and I forbade her to speak to Carleton. I was young, ex- 
tremely sensitive to comment, proud to folly of my name 
and family position. Such a thing as a divorce was un- 
heard of in that old Virginia town ; and to have my family 
secrets the subject of public criticisms ! No, I could not ! 
Any thing was better than that, so I began a life that was 
almost death to me. I could not trust her word ; I had to 
see for myself. Wherever she went, I escorted her. 
My books, my sole comfort, were put aside for this new 
occupation. To me it was like being chained to a wheel, 
whereon every nerve of my body was turned to fresh tor- 
tures. To her it was a prisoner’s life, forever under the eye 
of the guard. In private, there was perpetual jangling ; in 
public, peace. The world called me the most devoted hus- 


34 6 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


band, and her the most devoted wife. We were both miser- 
able. Had it been in her power, I believe she would have 
annulled the marriage she had desired, for by opposition her 
love for Carleton had increased. But she would not give up 
my name and let herself be forgotten in Virginia, although 
I offered her two-thirds of all I had. I had begun to read 
of Western divorces. Once, in answer to an outburst against 
my tyranny, I told her that I would not oppose her getting 
one, if she agreed never to come back to Virginia, and that 
I would settle on her two-thirds of my fortune. She grew 
suddenly calm, and said she would not please me so much. 
One day I was called out of town to perform an operation 
of a peculiar kind, which I had made a special study. I 
was to be absent five days. At the end of three, the patient 
had so improved that I returned home. As I reached the 
house I heard Sybil singing. I walked on the porch and 
through the low windows into the music room. She did 
not hear my step, but was looking up at Carleton as he 
leaned over her. Poor fellow — even in all my anger I 
pitied him. He really loved her. I forbade him my house. 
The next day I put my sister in a convent, and sailed for 
Europe. We were three years in Paris. I devoted my 
time to study, spending my days and a good part of my 
nights at the hospitals. Sybil was happy in the gay city, 
with plenty of money and no Cerberus. I had told her, so 
long as she did not need watching, I would not interfere 
with her pleasure. And she answered that any thing was 
better than the society of a man she despised. In my 
studies I tried to forget the barren misery of my home. 
We had been in Paris three years, and I was uncertain how 
much longer we would remain, when there came a cable 
message summoning me to my sister, who was sick with 
some childish but dangerous illness. We started at once 
for America. Sybil was unwilling to leave Paris, and I 


“ UP AMONG THE PINES.' 


347 


would have left her willingly, God knows, but she would 
not give up my name. When she saw that I would even 
agree to let her remain without resigning it she decided 
that she would return with me. My life was a burden to 
me. Tied to a woman I loathed and distrusted, going back 
to a life that was worse than death. I would have put an 
end to myself but for that little sister I was hurrying to see. 
It was weakness, perhaps, this desire to fly from troubles 
that seemed to my hot head beyond endurance, but I can 
look back now and pity that poor boy, leaning over the ves- 
sel’s side longing to jump in and end his heart aches. Would 
they have been ended ? God alone knows. I was spared 
the crime of taking my life by the living duty to protect my 
sister. When we reached Virginia, Eliza was better ; and I 
fell ill of nervous fever. 

Em and Bob, my body servant, were my nurses. One 
evening, when they thought me asleep, I heard them whis- 
pering about some man who was coming too regularly to 
see Sybil. Em was crying and said they might wait until 
poor Mars William was dead, ‘ an’ if he did die, what was 
to become of little miss when Mrs. Knowlton married Mr. 
Carleton?’ That was enough. I rose, dressed, despite their 
entreaties, and went down stairs. The faithful creatures 
were nearly white with terror for the results of my impru- 
dence. But, as in answer to my question, I learned that 
Carleton was then in the music-room with Sybil, I felt I 
had to go, or die. Very weak, yet filled with rage which 
gave me strength, I managed the stairs, but nearly fell when 

I reached the door. As I stopped to rest, I heard Sybil’s 
voice. She was singing the very song she had sung to this 
man the day I had taken her away from Virginia. 
Then fresh anger gave me fresh strength. I opened the 
door and looked at them. She was a tiny creature with 

II e eyes, and light hair. We had played together as 


348 


A PLUCKY ONE . 


children, but with her slight figure, and fair baby face, she 
looked ten years my junior. Her head was on his shoulder, 
his arm around her waist, as his chair was drawn close to 
the piano. “ Sybil ! ” At my voice they started apart. As 
she turned and saw me she was deadly pale. Then she 
recovered self-possession and her color, and said very 
quietly : 

“ ‘ Isn’t it imprudent to leave your room ? I thought the 
doctors considered you dangerously ill.’ To my fevered 
fancy, this fresh and dainty creature seemed a vulture just 
hovering around, waiting for my death. I did not speak 
to her, but turning to the man, I said, ‘ If ever you dare to 
speak again to any one connected with me I will kill you.’ 
Then I fell senseless. I was delirious for a long time. 
When I recovered strength and reason, Bob told me that 
the night I went down stairs, Sybil had gone sailing with 
Carleton. A sudden storm coming up, he had taken two 
men in a row-boat and had gone to seek them, but was 
unsuccessful in his search. The next morning the boat 
was found capsized, and shortly after Sybil’s body was 
recovered. She was buried a month before I knew it. 
There was little or no gossip. My continued illness was 
considered the result of grief. Em and Bob kept the secret 
faithfully, and Sybil had no near relatives who were inter- 
ested in her fate, so, except the monument bearing her name, 
there is left little other token of a wasted life. For myself, 
I have learned long since to pity her even more than to 
blame her, and have taken to my own conscience part of 
the wrong in marrying a woman I did not love.” 

He ceased speaking. All through this history Kathrine’s 
eyes had been fastened on his face, and her tears falling over 
the sufferings through which he had passed. A pity min- 
gled with contempt filled her for that Sybil at whose feet 
was laid this priceless jewel and who saw not its value. As 


“ UP AMONG THE PINES.” 


349 


he finished and still looked away with a half stern, half sad 
expression, she slipped her hand timidly into his. This 
tearing open of closed wounds had been a great pain to him. 
Scenes and sorrows half forgotten now began to live afresh. 
The long years forever gone ! Youth’s brightness lost ! At 
best, what was he now ? A man entering middle life, whose 
heart, impetuously as it now might beat and feel, had not 
many years of existence. Thus he mused when Kathrine's 
hand in his called him back from the past to her. ‘‘Are 
you content ? ” he asked gently. 

“ Content ! Oh, but your wasted life ! ” The words came 
from her lips like a sob, darkening his face to deeper 
sadness. 

Then she knelt at his side, she wooed him with her kisses, 
she pressed his head to her breast, the essence of h'er 
sweetness surrounded him, shutting out every thing but 
this his great, his present joy. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


“ TOGETHER.” 

S HOUTS of “Kath,” “ Uncle,” “ William,” “ Knowlton,” 
brought them to the knowledge of the fact that the sun, 
which at their coming into this their life’s inheritance had 
stood at noon, was now bidding the world farewell. “We 
do not measure time by hours but by heart-beats,” and 
their hearts had been in one long throb of joy. Until these 
voices came from the other world, calling their spirits to 
earth, its duties and cares. 

Then standing on a huge stone, waving her handkerchief, 
and calling Harry, Kathrine brought the seekers to their 
rocky nook, which for them was covered with roses of 
delight. 

“ Oh, Kath, mamma’s so worried. She thought something 
had surely happened to you and uncle,” called out Harry, 
bounding up to her. 

“ Something has happened,” Owen thought, as he 
noticed her flushed face, and the dark eyes swimming in a 
liquid joy that made them dangerous for man to look on. 
But when he saw William Knowlton leaning against a rock 
with head bound up, he stopped amazed. The doctor was 
in his shirt sleeves, the torn coat was thrown to one side — 
and there was a terribly swollen foot. What had happened ! 
“ Halloo ! ” he cried. 

“ By Jove, William, old boy, how did this come about ? ” 
And then with an expression, half comical, “ Miss Gordon, 
what have you been doing to my brother ? ” “ It was not 


“ TOGETHER . 


351 


Kathrine, it was the rock,” said the doctor, coming to the 
rescue. 

He told the story of his danger and escape ; told it all, 
but not a word did he say of the cause. Owen and Harry 
listened breathless, and at the close, with an emotion he 
could not conceal, Owen grasped his brother’s hand, and 
said : 

“ Thank God ! If you had been killed, it would have 
broken Eliza’s heart. Let us get away from the monster. 
I don’t feel safe a moment to have you here.” 

“Give me your arm, and help me down,” said the doc- 
tor. 

Owen wanted to carry him on his back, but at this Dr. 
Knowlton laughed so heartily, declining to be the “ old man 
of the sea,” that they all laughed with him. Eliza, too 
nervous to wait at home, had come out to help the search. 
Hearing the laughter, her heart grew lighter. And when 
Harry bounded down to meet her, and told the story about 
“ the old man of the sea,” she was somewhat prepared for 
the shock of her brother’s appearance. 

The ending to the story came the next morning. As the 
sunlight gently crept down the mountain side and looked in 
the window of the sitting-room, it saw Kathrine and Wil- 
liam Knowlton made one for all eternity. 

“ Seven o’clock, did you say ? ” Owen had put his laugh- 
ing face into the doorway the evening previous. When, 
after a family talk, Dr. Knowlton had rather startled them 
by taking Kathrine’s hand and saying : 

“And now, to leave business, and tell you a bit of news. 
Kathrine and I are to be married to-morrow morning early.” 

“ Shall I go for the priest now ? ” Owen had said, start- 
ing to his feet, his blue eyes sparkling with fun. Dr. 
Knowlton had answered, “ If you please. Ask him to be 
here by seven in the morning.” 


352 


A PLUCKY ONE. 


“ Oh, come, Knowlton, that’s too bad ! Do let the old 
father have a little sleep. He is so busy all day seeing to 
the building of the church. And now to call him up at 
that hour ! Must I really say seven ? ” And as the doctor 
nodded, “Well, if I must, I’ll just tell the old man to stop 
up all night. For if he keeps you waiting, you might 
refuse to build your share of the church, and leave it all 
for me.” 

And so the morning full of gladness broke upon their 
blessed union, to which Harry’s had been the only oppos- 
ing voice. He was much disappointed when he heard his 
uncle’s announcement ; and running to Kathrine, had taken 
her other hand and said : 

“ But you can not marry her. She has promised to wait 
for me.” 

It took some time and much argument to make the little 
fellow yield his rights. But finally it was accomplished, and 
his bright young face was the first one lifted to kiss the 
bride. Em was looking on, in all the glory of a new black 
silk ; and Miss Baby, clapping her hands and calling out 
“ My noo aunty,” as if some one had given her a new toy. 

Eliza was blessed in the happiness of those she loved, 
and Owen threatened to buy a pair of goggles, to save his eyes 
if “ Knowlton would persist in looking so happy. It was 
too much for ordinary eyes like his to see without injury.” 
He turned to tease Kathrine, but said he didn’t dare to, now 
she had taken his big brother to fight her battles for her. 

Then they had a merry wedding breakfast and what a 
happy day ! 

For them there were none of the embarrassments, the 
ennui , that too often fall on the newly married, for they were 
so truly parts of one perfect whole that their marriage was 
only the completion of the union. 

Each had felt the bitterness of loneliness, and now to 


“ TOGETHER .” 


353 


them was given the greatest of all boons — companionship. 
The future might hold sorrow, but, thus bound together, 
they would bear it together, and break the violence of its 
blow. 

Mutual tastes, mutual ambition, mutual love, heaven can 
but make these eternal, and it is the heaven of our desire. 



THE END. 











“ A LITERARY ENTERPRISE UNIQUE IN THE ANNALS OF PUBLISHING.” 


CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY. 

Edited by Prof. Henry Morley, LL.D. 

A series of weekly volumes, each containing about 200 pages, clear, 
readable print, on good paper, at the low price of 

TEU CENTS PER VOLUME. 

SUBSCRIPTION PRICE PER YEAR (52 NUMBERS) $5.00. 
ALSO IN CLOTH EXTRA. PRICE, 25 CTS. PER VOLUME. 


NOW READY. 

1— My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. By Silvio Pellico. 

2— Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. By Lord Byron. 

3— The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. 

4— The Complete Angler. By Isaac Walton. 

5— The Man of Feeling. By Henry Mackenzie. 

6— The School for Scandal and the Rivals. By Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 

7— Sermons on the Card, and other Discourses. By Bishop Latimer. 

8— Plutarch’s Dives of Alexander and Caesar. 

9— Castle of Otranto. 

10— Voyages and Travels. By Sir John Mandeville. 

11— She Stoops to Conquer, and The Good-Natured Man. By Oliver Goldsmith. 

12— The Adventures of Baron Trenck. Translated from the German By Thomas 

Holcroft. Vol. L 
13 . Vol. II. 

14— The Dady of the Dake. By Sir Walter Scott. 

15— Selections from the Table-Talk of Martin Duther. 

16— The Wisdom of the Ancients. By Lord Bacon. 

17— Francis Bacon. By Lord Macaulay. 

18— Dives of the English Poets, Waller, Milton, Cowley. By Samuel Johnson, LL.D. 

19— Thoughts on the Present Discontents and Speeches. By Edmund Burke. 

20— The Battle of the Books and Other Short Pieces. By Jonathan Swift. 

21— Poems. By George Crabbe. 

22— Egypt and Scythia Described. By Herodotus. 

23— Hamlet. By William Shakespeare. 

24— Voyagers’ Tales. From the Collections of Richard Hakluyt. 

25— Nature and Art. By Mbs. Inchbald. 

26— Plutarch’s Dives of Alcibiades and Coriolanus, Aristides and Cato the 

Censor. 

27— Essays. By Abram Cowley. 

28— Sir Roger de Coverley and the Spectators Club. By Richard Steel and 

Joseph Addison. 

29— Voyages and Travels. By Marco Polo. 

30— Merchant of Venice. By William Shakespeare. 

31— Religio Medici. By Sir Thomas Browne, M.D. 

32— Voyages in Search of the North-West Passage. From the Collection of Richard 

Hakluyt. 

33— The Diary of Samuel Pepys, 1660—1661. 

34— Milton’s Earlier Poems. 

35— The Sorrows of Werter. Goethe. 

36— Dives of the English Poets, Button, Denham, Dryden, Roscommon, Stratt, 

Dorset, Rochester, Otway. 

37— Nathan the Wise. A Dramatic Poem in Five Acts. 


CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited, 730 & 74i Broadway, New York. 


“ A Real Literary Gem.” — St. Louis Globe-Democrat. 


AT LOVE’S EXTREMES. 

BY MAURICE THOMPSON, 

Author of “ A Tallahasse Girl,” “ Songs of Fair Weather,” etc, 

I VOL., i 2 mo., CLOTH. PRICE ... $1.00. 

The scene of the story is laid in the mountains of Alabama ; it is a 
thoroughly American tale, as strong as it is picturesque. 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

The story is a very strong one, with picturesque sketching, effective dramatic situa- 
tions, and most admirable character drawing. — Boston Home Journal. 

The interest is sustained to the close, and the reader is little likely to lay the book 
down unfinished. — Boston Courier. 

It is bright with descriptions of scenes, and spicy with mountaineer dialect. . . . 

The style is charming and this new work of fiction will be read widely and with pleas- 
ure. — St. Louis Globe-Democrat. 

There is an undertone to the book that is indescribably charming. — Hartford Even - 
ing Post. 

A delightful story, elegantly designed, and told in the most interesting manner. — 
Press , Albany. 

Crisp and fresh in style, and the story is told with animation. — Brooklyn Daily 
Times. 

The attractive setting, the general color, and the excellence of parts of the action 
make the novel a very strong one. — Boston Globe. 

Its delineations of characters are masterpieces . . . and the interest is so well 
sustained that one is reluctant to }ay aside the book until it is finished. — Portland 
Globe. 

The author has blended the beautiful and romantic in graceful thought which 
charms and entertains the reader. — Southern A griculturist. 

There is no more graceful writer in the country than Mr. Thompson. The word 
elegance fitly describes his style, and whenever he turns out a piece of literary work it 
is always complete. Each sentence is finely polished and every chapter thoroughly 
finished. In the present volume he deals with life in the mountains of Alabama, and 
describes most happily its people and scenery. His story is unconventional and well 
told. — Baltimore A meridan. 

“ At Love’s Extremes 1 ’ is full of passionate fire and human nature under the 
influence of intense feeling. — Troy Daily Times. 

FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 

CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited. 

739 and 741 Broadway, New York. 


AS IT WAS WRITTEN. 

A Jewish Musician’s Story. 

By Sidney Luska. 


i Volume i6mo. Extra Cloth. Price, ... - $i.oo. 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

“ As it was Written is certainly a work of no common sort. It is full of passion 
and virile struggle, and will make its mark.” — George Cary Eggleston. 

*‘ Its intensity, picturesqueness and exciting narration are in sharp contrast with 
the works of our analytic novelists.” — E. C. Stedman. 

41 It is safe to say that few readers who have perused the first chapter, will be con- 
tent to lay the book down without finishing it.” — Christian Union , New York. 

44 The working out of so strange and abnormal a plot without any descent into mere 
grotesqueness is a triumph of art.” — New York Tribune. 

44 It is vivid without floridness, dreamy without sentiment, exciting without being 
sensational.” — The Critic , New York. 

44 We can earnestly advise all readers who care for a novel showing individuality, 
power and thought, to read As it was Written.” — Brooklyn Union. 

“To Sidney Luska we owe a debt of gratitude for charming us with a powerful 
story.” — yewish Messenger , New York. 

44 The book is certain to be read with interest, and to raise at least its little ripple of 
talk and criticism as being out of the common run of the works of the day. — Boston 
Courier. 

44 A capital novel. ... It cannot fail to impress itself as an able and moving 
dramatic effort.” — New York Times. 

44 The wearied reader of fiction who opens this book has in store for himself a 
genuine sensation.” — Palladium , New Haven. 

44 Of all the novels that have come to us this season, As it was Written seems the 
most likely to take a permanent place in literature. We hope to hear from Sidney 
Luska again.” — Yale Courant. 

44 A remarkable prose composition, created out of intense feeling and imagination, 
and powerfully affecting those of others, and bears the mark of genius.” — Boston 
Globe. 

44 We have seen no book of late years to which the term absorbing in interest could 
more appropriately be applied.” — Boston Herald. 

* 4 One of the most powerful novels of the year.” — St. Louis Republican. 

44 It stands apart from the average novel, soon invites attention and then rivets it. 
. . . Will doubtless be extensively read.” — New York Telegram. 

44 A work of thrilling interest that exercises an enthralling influence over the imagi- 
nation. For sustained power it occupies an unique position among the novels of the 
year.” — Daily Chronicle. 


FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 

CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited. 

. 739 and 741 Broadway, New York. 


HAVE YOU READ 


The New American Novel 

TRAJAN. 

The History of a Sentimental Young Man r 
with some Episodes in the Comedy of 
many Lives Errors . 

By HENRY F. KEENAN. 

The story is of international interest. The scene is laid in Paris 
during the exciting days that ushered in the Commune, and while 
many real persons figure among the characters, the plot hovers 
round a group of Americans, thrown together by the vicissitudes 
of the hour. 


“ Among the new novels of the season, 
Mr. Henry F. Keenan’s ‘ Trajan ’ must 
be promptly accorded the first place.” — 
New York Herald. 

“It is much the best novel that has ap- 
peared for years in the English or any 
other language.” — Phila. Evening Bul- 
letin. 


“ 4 Trajan ’ is a classic, a real gem 
plucked from the mass of rubbish with 
which the bookstores are crowded.” — 
Boston Times. 

“ Every careful bibliographer of the 
20th century ought to mention 1 Trajan ’ 
as a novel to be read for scenes of the 
19th century in Paris and New York.” — 
Hartford Post. 


E. C. Stedman pronounces “Trajan” : 
“Graphic and spirited. . . . Which 

no one can read without interest, and 
which renders a welcome certain for the 
future productions of its author.” 

Hjalmar II. Boyesen writes : “An 
exceptionally brilliant novel.. It is as 
clever in description as it is vigorous in 
characterization . ’ * 


H. H. Furness, the famous Shakes- 
pearean scholar, says :•>“ I like ‘ Trajan,* 
first, for the delightful way the author 
has given the very atmosphere of that 
May afternoon in Paris ! Its sights are 
in my eyes ; its sounds are in my ears, 
and its very smells are in my nostrils. No 
picture of Meissonier’s can be more 
faithful.” 


1 Vol., 12mo. 650 Pages. Price, $1.50, 


FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 

CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited, 

v 739 and 741 Broadway, N,ew York. 


CASSELL’S “SELECT” LIBRARY 


OF ENTERTAINING FICTION. 


A Collection of Short Complete Stories 

BY 

LEADING AUTHORS. 

PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. 

A RACE FOR LIFE, ETC. 

MY NIGHT ADVENTURE, ETC. 

THE GREAT GOLD SECRET, ETC. 
WHO TOOK IT ? ETC. 

A WIFE’S CONFESSION, ETC. 
SNOWED UP, ETC. 
CHECKMATED, ETC. 

OTHER VOLUMES TO FOLLOW. 


CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited 

739 & 741 Broadway, New York 


CASSELL’S “ RAINBOW ” SERIES 

OF 

New and Original Novels. 

By Popular American and Foreign Authors. In Large i2mo. volumes of 192 
pages each. Elegantly printed on good paper and bound in illuminated paper cover. 

PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS PER VOLUME. 

NOW READY. 

WANTED— A SENSATION ; A Saratoga Incident. 

By Edward S. Van Zill. 

A MORAL SINNER. 

By Myrtilla N. Daly. 

SCRUPLES. 

By Mrs. J. H. Walworth, author of “ Bar Sinister,” etc. etc. 

MARVELOUS IN OUR EYES. 

By Emma E. Hornibrook. 

WITNESS MY HAND. 

By the author of 44 Lady Gwendolen’s Tryst.” 

A PRINCE OF DARKNESS. 

By Florence Warden, author of 44 The House on the Marsh,” etc., etc. 

KINO SOLOMON’S MINES. 

A Thrilling Story founded on an African Legend. By H. Rider Haggard, author 
of 44 Dawn,” 44 The Witch’s Head,” etc. 

NATASQUA. 

By Rebecca Harding Davis, author of 44 Waiting for the Verdict,” etc., etc. 

OLD FULKERSON’S CLERK. 

By Mrs. J. H. Walworth, author of 44 The Bar Sinister,” 44 Without Blemish,” etc. 

OUR SENSATION NOVEL. 

Edited by Justin H. McCarthy, M. P. 

MORGAN’S HORROR. 

A Romance of the “ West Countree.” 

By George Manville Fenn, author of 44 Sweet Mace,” ‘‘Parson o’ Dumford,” 
** Poverty Corner,” etc. 

A CRIMSON STAIN. 

By Annie Bradshaw. 

OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION. 


CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited 

739 & 74 1 Broadway, New York. 

7 60 I 




























< *' o . i ■* A % ^ 7^0 ' .o'*- <•„*'.. a A 

■* - °o G°V^ % /*• 


♦ < 5 , 


* +j. S : 

r~ : A v ° «W, 

^ * ,0 O nd» 


Jr ^ 




✓ •>* V ^ 

<. O 0 X 

c .1 _> *> 


♦ 

r \V ‘ 


^ &$“' cK y <■ 0 J 

V S ' +f ^ AV 




AV Y* ' ^ . 

** r V 'K 


• ,V y ♦ tcQsTS 


V 


« c* <%, o V, 7 ^? ' / * ,^ V ^ 

* V? Vf. 0 v.^e-'K * y ■$> * 

& - *> ^ o. v * ^ ^ ^ a * 

<3 *t , c s ,0 ^ y 0 _ . * .A. 

c * ^ * 0 ? . - ' 1 * * A * N c 0 N c 



/,zy^ ' -<& V A 

^ ; vO o 



O * / . s ,1 

7 * * s ^ 


; "o o x . 


V" A<. 



«- v ft r, ' /* 1 n I ' \^ s * * . y~ * 

cy V- Y 0 z 'o V . ' ' ' '/ > 

^ 1 ? S) . “f . s JS Ifffi'tyW. * 

« x, vN <* «A Ai 1 < ?l A‘> * 7 y*v^‘ * ■>* 

> ^c 5 > . Avm 6 ^v» .\* v * Jf 



<v J r 




£ A 

o oa rv 

AvMA o 

^SEM^ z 


^/> V 

^ -* 5 

*> 4 

V-4 1/ - 

%-vA *• 

.vr 

%, 


y 0 , V A .A 



3 \ yf. ^ . 

> ^ C 

,0'’ 'O, ^ 8 , ^ ^ * 3 M o ’* C ^, *” 

0 ^ tfl' \ N J N u S- 

.o^ (C» v yl/w y / ^ A o v ^^ o /- cv 

A *Wr. ■%. .# *i§95i% '^. y *'^^ v ^ 




r 0 V V* 




-io' 



•>\ * 

° 9 x ^ \ ^ , '^/ ** r^ S '' \o 

^ t o " 0 , •*£, * * r A 

.<* * rf5<^' ° 0 * 



© o' 

, . . % *tt;” 'V • s .., v 4 • - • v 

pL^j, « ^ SP - Jpg, - •%. «? 

*Lfy/yJ; Z > z ^ FSS>e - 

mmvF^ c ^<* o 

iliii^ - v ^ ^ v ' J ->, 

,l>» « ^ 

■* V 


C * /- fc ^ r \ CL* C*" 

>:*•.'.' % ^V'vu 


^ v \ 

° * 1 "* a' A , o X « „ ^ 

' o # 

+ ,A\ < 

^ ; *+ > i ^ 

> = x° ©* - ^ 

^wwe ^ * <* 

^ < xy ^ v ^ * ,-nV ^ . 

'*>.* 0 * 0 ^^° * ff I a 6 



O' ^ H * o , 

^ c^ . r *%£>*.'>' *<■ 


tJk\ 

A % 

* V> %■ 




r 

o 

2: 

%<• 

& 

c* 

"9 

0 

*> 

_v> 

%. 

£■ 

O 

\J 




*<* 

A \Vy 

z *plrfb^ 0 

«** 





^ * jS xWa 



